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COLLECTED    PLAYS 


THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   ■    BOSTON   -    CHICAGO   ■    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


COLLECTED 
PLAYS 


BY 

STEPHEN    PHILLIPS 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 
1921 

All  rights  reser-veJ 


Copyright,  1902,  1904,  igo6,  1908,  1910,  1921, 
By  the   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  February,  1921. 


S.  Cushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

I  REMEMBER  my  father  as  a  big  man,  with  a 

beautiful,  but  rather  sullen  face,  and  eyes  full 

of  strange,  sad  melancholy,  as  if  the  soul  were 

always    dreaming   and    yearning,    and    reaching 

.  for  heights  unattainable. 

He  had  about  him  a  presence  of  mystery  and 
of  power ;  that  sense  which  one  may  feel  to  exist, 
but  which  one  may  never  describe  in  the  language 
of  words. 

To  strangers  he  was  cold,  impassive  and  re- 
served, which  gave  to  him  an  aspect  of  sombre- 
ness,  but  to  those  whom  he  knew  to  be  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  greatness  of  thought  he  became 
at  once  a  being  of  quite  natural  impulses,  and 
on  these  occasions,  when  he  felt  at  ease,  the  light 
of  genius  that  burned  unwaveringly  within  him 
would  burst  into  visibility  with  a  power  and 
wonder  that  could  not  fail  to  impress. 

Often,    under   the   midnight   stars,   he   would 


787303 


PREFACE 


pace  the  ground,  giving  utterance  to  those 
beautiful  ideas,  in  a  loud,  vibrating  voice,  full  of 
the  intensity  and  clearness,  the  spiritual  tone 
and  exquisite  charm,  of  which  he  alone  was  the 
master. 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  music  and  the 
haunting  strains  of  some  old  song,  or  refrain, 
'  would  sometimes  awaken  a  beautiful  thought 
within  him,  and  while  he  was  transmitting  it 
<^  >    to  paper,  he  would  ask  for  the  particular  piece 

to  be  played  again,  and  perhaps  again,  until 
he  had  finished  and  was  content. 

Strangely  enough  he  preferred  the  most  simple 
music,  especially  an  old  song  if  it  were  at  all  sad, 
or  had  an  air  of  dreaminess  about  it. 

He  had  a  magnetic  personality.     When  once 

i     one  had  heard  him  reciting  some  lines  in  his 

\    remarkably    expressive    voice,    one    invariably 

wished  to  linger  to  hear  more,  if  one  had  a  sense 

of  the  beautiful  or  the  divine. 

Poetry  was  his  chief  and  most  constant  com- 
panion, for  he  was  not  a  mere  conjuror  of  words 
or  phrases,  as  a  workman  carves  mechanically 
at  his  bronze,  but  a  spirit  of  wild  passion,  calm 


PREFACE  vii 

philosophy  and  sometimes  of  deep  sadness,  as 
the  mood  took  him. 

And  very  often  he  had  periods  of  such  sadness, 
when  he  could  write  only  of  sorrowful  things, 
and  these,  I  think,  contain  some  of  his  best 
work. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  beautiful  lyric, 
in  regard  to  its  sadness  and  trance-like  simplicity, 
than  this : 

"Beautiful  lie  the  dead, 

Clear  comes  each  feature, 
Satisfied  not  to  be, 
Strangely  contented. 

Like  shi^,  the  anchor  dropped, 

Juried  every  sail  is ; 
Miri;ored  with  all  their  masts  'jv.eV-«.?w,^ 

In  a  deep  water." 

The  clearness,  the  directness  and  the  appeal 
of  every  word  goes  straight  to  the  slumbering 
soul  and  awakens  it  to  the  delight,  the  fragrance 
and  joy,  which  has,  for  the  moment,  eluded  it. 

Then,  too,  the  quality  of  his  tragedy  was  al- 
most supreme.  Just  a  few  lines,  taken  at  ran- 
dom, from  "Paolo  and  Francesca" 


viii  PREFACE 

"What  rapture  in  perpetual  fire  to  burn 
Together !  —  where  we  are  in  endless  fire. 
There  centuries  shall  in  a  moment  pass, 
And  all  the  cycles  in  one  hour  elapse  ! 
Still,  still  together,  even  when  faints  Thy  sun, 
And  past  our  souls  Thy  stars  like  ashes  fall, 
How  wilt  Thou  punish  us  who  cannot  part?" 

'  As  a  poet,  dealing  with  the  quietness  and 
constancy  of  sorrow,  or  with  the  temperamental 
fires  of  tragedy,  he  was,  I  believe,  standing,  with 
firmly  planted  feet,  upon  a  pinnacle  of  the 
mountains,  where  the  fickle  storms  of  criticism 
could  not  reach  him. 

It  seems  that  now,  after  the  turmoil  of  war, 
during  which  there  was  no  leisure  for  Art,  the 
time  has  arrived  when  his  work  should  be  placed 
before  the  reader  once  more,  so  that  he  or  she 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  judging  its  excel- 
lence, for  although  he  was  not  the  greatest  of 
poets,  he  deserves  a  little  niche,  even  a  partially 
secluded  one,  in  the  eternal  framework  of  immor- 
tality. 

Stephen  Phillips,  Jun. 

AsHFORD,  Middlesex, 
England. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

Aylmer's  Secret 

Ulysses 

The  Six  of  Damd 

Nero 

Faust 

Pietro  of  Siena 


AYLMER'S    SECRET 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE   SCENES 
BY 

STEPHEN   PHILLIPS 


CHARACTERS 
Aylmer 

The  Creature 

Miranda,  Aylmer' s  Daughter 

A  PLAY   IN  THREE   SCENES 

Scene.  —  Aylmer's  Attic  in  Soho 
Time.  —  The  Present 


AYLMER'S   SECRET 

SCENE   I 

Scene.  —  Soho^  London. 
Time.  —  The  Present. 

A  room  fitted  up  as  a  laboratory,  filled  with 
mortars,  batteries,  etc.,  and  other  scientific 
instruments.  (Body  of  Creature  at  hack, 
hidden  by  curtains.)  Window  at  back.  Cur- 
tain drawm  before  window  across  room.  Lamp 
burning  on  table. 

[Aylmer  seated  at  table,  alone.     Nightfall. 
Aylmer.     [Agitated  —  rises  and  goes  to  win- 
dow. 
It  comes,  it  comes  !  At  last  the  night  comes  on 

3 


4  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

That  I  so  long  have  looked  for :    I  have  lived 

But  for  this  night.     To-night  I  bring  to  trial, 

Put  to  the  test,  the  labours  of  a  life. 

As  I  look  back  upon  the  years,  I  see 

One  long,  one  mad  pursuit.     But  is  it  mad  ? 

This  night  shall  prove. 

\Walks  restlessly  up  and  down. 
The  study  of  the  stars, 
Of  stones,  of  plants,  of  creeping  things,  of  all 
This  visible  world  sufficed  for  other  men  — 
They  left  me  still  unsatisfied. 

[Pauses  in  his  walk  —  stands  still. 
I  sought 
For  that  which  lay  behind  all  sciences  — 
For  that  without  which  they  are  cold,  dead 
things  — 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  S 

The  very  principle  and  breath  of  life, 
Which  God  first  breathed  in  Adam. 

[Pauses,  then  sits,  throws  himself  back  in 

chair. 

And  this  thing 

Possessed  me  like  a  passion,  strong  as  love 
Or  hate  1     Men  came  to  me  and  said  : 
"Beware !   for  there  are  limits  set  for  man 
Beyond  which  if  he  goes  he  sins."     I  see 
No  limit  set  to  knowledge.     Who  shall  say, 
"Thus  much  it  is  permitted  thee  to  know,— 
No  more"?     Or  where  doth  Nature  stay  her 

hand? 
So,  like  a  dreamer  standing  on  the  edge 
Of  some  vast  precipice,  as  he  looks  down, 
The  very  depth  and  terror  of  the  place 


6  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Draws  him  to  leap,  and  lose  himself  in  air ;  — 

So  I,  long  gazing,  felt  the  wild  impulse 

To  plunge  in  the  unknown.     Here,  in  this 


room. 


I  lived  alone,  above  the  streaming  life 

And  roar  of  London,  which  has  pass'd  me  by, 

Still  mingling  chemistry  with  chemistry, 

[Rises  and  holds  lamp  to  the  different  in- 
struments lying  in  the  room. 
Until  at  last  I  wrung  from  cylinders, 
Batteries,  mortars,  engines,  crucibles, 
This  awful  fire,  this  very  breath  of  life, 
This  secret,  first  of  secrets  and  the  last. 

[Goes  up  and  draws  curtain,   disclosing 
body  of  the  Creature. 
Here  lies  a  human  frame,  which  I  have  toiled 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  7 

And  toiled  on,  year  b}'  year,  that  it  might  be 
A  fitting  mansion  for  so  high  a  guest. 
Look  on  him,  Nature,  scan  him,  search  him 

well, 
Created  bone  for  bone  and  vein  for  vein 
Like  thy  first  Adam.     Look  on  him  again.  — 
WTiat  is  there  lacking?     Where  doth  he  fall 

short  ? 
In  muscle,  organ,  tissue,  fibre,  nerve? 

[Goes,  holding  lamp,  up  to  high  shelf,  and 
reaches  phial. 
And  thou  dost  hold  a  mightier  secret  yet  — 
Or  all  my  life  is  vain ;  —  an  essence  pure, 
Which  shall  have  power  upon  those  lifeless 

limbs 
That  they  shall  rise  and  stand  and  walk  to  me, 


8  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Here,  in  this  very  room.     Ah !     Why  do  I 

shudder  ? 
Why  have  I  hidden  here,  away  from  men, 
Like  an  assassin  —  bolted  out  the  world 
As  from  a  soHtary  crime  ?     Not  dared 
To  ask  Heaven's  blessing  on  my  enterprise  ? 
Long  years  have  I  looked  forward  to  this  night, 
And  now  this  night  has  come, 

[Puts  down  lamp  on  table. 
I  fear :  and  why  ? 
[Holds  up  phial,  and  looks  at  it. 
'Tis  but  the  last  of  all  discoveries. 
Galileo,  Newton,  Herschel  trod  the  same 
Path  that  I  now  tread  ;  I  but  bring  their  seed 
To  harvest.     Has  not  Nature,  has  not  God 
As  He  led  them,  led  me,  too,  by  the  hand, 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  9 

And  shall  I  now  draw  back  ?     Surely,  to  doubt 
Were  greater  blasphemy  than  to  defy  Him. 

[Miranda's  voice  is  heard  outside. 
Listen ! 

[Stands  listening. 
My  child's  voice!     Is  it  hers?  or 
that  — 
Who  knows?  — of  a  better  angel?     And  it 

seems 
To  call  me  back  from  what  I  was  about 
To  do. 

[Sees  phial  in  his  hand.    Shudders,  and 
slowly  retreats  to  shelf  and  puts  hack 
phial,  still  listening,  face  towards  sound. 
Let  me  put  back  this  phial. 

[Voice  ceases. 


lO  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Ah! 
Now  it  has  ceased  !     I  feel  in  me  again 
The  longing  I  have  felt  before,  to  leave 
For  ever  this  unnatural  Ufe,  to  dash 
That  phial  to  the  ground,  and  to  return 
Once  more  to  human  love,  to  human  life, 
And  lay  this  fevered  head  in  my  child's  lap. 
MiiL\N.     [Heard  of.]     Father !     Father ! 
Aylmer.     She  calls  me  ! 
Voice.     [Otitside.]     Father,  may  I  come  in 

a  moment? 
Aylmer.     My  child,  I  have  forbidden  you 
to  come  in  here. 
Leave  me  for  this  night  to  myself. 
Voice.     Only  a  moment,  father ! 

[Aylmer  draws  curtain  back,  concealing 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  ii 

body.     Unlocks  door.    Enter  Miranda. 

She  stands  a  moment,  looking  round; 

shudders,  and  then  comes  to  Aylmer, 

and  puts  arms  round  his  neck. 
MiRAN.  Father,  when  will  you  leave  this 
dreadful  room,  with  all  these  ugly  instru- 
ments, wliich  make  me  shudder  even  to  look 
at  them?  What  is  it  you  work  at  here,  all 
alone?  Can't  I  help  in  some  way?  I  am 
sure  that  I  could.  You  used  to  be  glad  to 
have  me  with  you,  and  now  I  scarcely  ever 
see  you.  I  only  hear  you  pacing  up  and 
down  this  room  night  after  night,  and  mutter- 
ing to  yourself.  I  am  so  lonely  by  myself. 
And  whenever  I  speak  to  you,  it  is  always, 
"Some     other     time  —  some     other     time." 


12  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

[Rises  petulantly.]     I  was  your  daughter  once 

—  long   ago  —  but   now   you   have   another 

daughter    whom    you    love    much    more  — 

Science. 

Aylmer.  Science,  my  child,  is  an  exacting 
daughter. 

MiRAN.  She  exacts  too  much !  Oh, 
father,  is  it  right  for  you  to  be  so  much 
alone?  Perhaps  I  am  not  like  other  girls, 
who  care  only  to  be  loved.  But  I  should 
be  quite  happy  if  you  would  let  me  watch 
over  you.  Then  I  should  be  content.  But 
now,  my  Hfe  is  so  vain.  I  have  this  great 
need  at  my  heart  —  something  to  love, 
something  to  cherish.  Let  me  love  you, 
father !    Let  me  be  near  you,  as  I  used  to 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  13 

be.     You  do  still  care  for  me,  father,  don't 
you? 

Aylmer.  Care  for  you !  You  are  the 
only  thing  I  love ;  and,  after  to-night,  the 
old  days  shall  come  back.  I  have  one  more 
great  experiment  to  make  before  dawn,  and 
then  I  mil  seal  up  this  chamber  for  ever, 
and  we  will  be  together,  with  nothing  to  part 
us  any  more. 

[They  embrace. 

MiRAN.     This  shall  be  the  last  night,  then  ? 

Aylmer.  The  very  last.  To-morrow, 
early,  I  will  wake  you,  and  we  \vill  go  out 
together,  and  look  on  Nature  at  her  sunniest. 
And  now  leave  me.  And  yet,  why  should 
you  leave  me  ?     No,  no  !     Stay  by  me,  stay  by 


14  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

me,  child.  I  am  better  when  I  am  with  you. 
Save  me  —  save  me !  Do  not  leave  me  to 
myself  to-night ! 

[Sinks  wildly  into  a  chair. 
MiRAN.     Ah,  you  are  ill.     Let  me  lead  you 
out  of  this  hateful  room,  and  never  enter  it 
again.     Come ! 

Aylmer.  No.  It  was  only  a  passing 
weakness ;  I  am  well  again  now.  [Rises, 
mastering  himself]  I  am  strong.  [Aside] 
I  will  not  go  back  nor  falter.  [Aloud]  This 
night  I  must  spend  alone,  for  on  this  night  I 
either  succeed  in  the  labours  of  a  Hfe — or  I  fail. 
MiRAN.  [Reluctantly]  Well,  if  it  must 
be  so  —  good  night.  But  this  is  the  last 
night  you  will  sit  up  alone,  is  it  not,  father? 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  ^5 

Aylmer.     The  last. 

MiRAN.     [At  door]     Remember,  you  prom- 
ised!    To-morrow   I   claim   you   for   myself. 

Good  night. 

{Exit. 

[Aylmer  locks  door,  walks  slowly  hack  to 
table  and  sits  down. 
Aylmer.     I  am  a  man  again!    I  feel,  I 
love ! 
And  tliis  unnatural  and  feverish  fire 
Leaves  me,   and  a  more  sober  glow  comes 

back. 
And  yet  I  must  go  on.     The  night  is  spent. 

I  must  to  work. 

[Draivs  curtain. 

Were  it  not  for  the  sake 


i6  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Of  future  ages,  I  should  pause  before 

I  wakened  thee,  thou  still,  inanimate  clay. 

Thou  art  at  peace  as  yet.     How  many  men 

Groaning  beneath  intolerable  lives. 

Had  they  been  offered  choice  —  to  lie  for  ever, 

As  thou  Hest  now  —  would  have  refused  this 

gift 
Of  feverish  Hfe  I  give  to  thee  ?     'Tis  we, 
We  who  have  lived,  who  envy  thee  thy  sleep. 
Yet,  why  do  I  dream  here?     The  morning 

comes 
Upon  me,  and  I  must  to  work.     Oh,  why  — 
Why  do  I  still  draw  back?     O,  Thou  great 

God, 
Who  hast  made  life,  and  given  hfe  to  me, 
If  Thou  art  wroth,  —  or  if  I  now  usurp 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  I7 

Thy  high  prerogative  —  or  if  I  go 
Beyond  the  boundaries  Thou  hast  set  for  man ; 
If  there  be  worlds  forbidden,  regions  sealed 
To  us  Thy  creatures,  where  to  breathe  is  sin,  — 
Then,  ere  it  be  too  late,  consume  me !    Let 
The  lightning,  flashing  Uke  Thy  unsheathed 

sword, 
End  me,  now,  where  I  stand  in  very  act 
To  babble  Thy  holy  secret  to  the  world ; 

For,  if  I  live,  I  must  go  on. 

[Pause. 

Nothing !    Nothing ! 
Why,  I  am  raving  !    To  what  end  these  cries? 
'Tis  but  the  last  of  all  discoveries, 
And  I  shall  make  it. 

[Reaches  down  phial  and  stoops  over  body. 


I 8  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

Then  drink  thou  down  this. 
How  my  hand  shakes  ! 

[Pause  —  rises. 
I  must  be  calm,  take  breath. 
Now  I  am  master  of  myself. 

[Again  stoops  over  body. 
Once  more, 
I  pour  into  thy  veins  the  fire  of  fires. 

[Long  pause,  after  placing  phial  to  Crea- 
ture's mouth. 
Motionless  still ! 

[Starts  hack. 
Ah  !     Am  I  going  mad  ? 
I  see  a  faint  flush  on  his  face !     Is  it  the  light 
Thrown  from  the  lamp  ? 

[Brings  lamp  and  looks  at  body. 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  19 

No,  no  ;   I  see  it  still ! 
[Throios  himself  in  chair  by  table. 
I  dare  not  look  again. 

[Pause. 
Was  that  a  sigh  ? 

[Pause. 
Again  a  shuddering  sigh  ! 
A  moment  more,   and  he  will  move  —  will 

live  !  .  .  . 
I'll  slay  thee,  ere  it  be  too  late.     To  slay  thee 
Ere  yet  thou  art  aUve  can  be  no  crime. 

[Advances  again  to  body. 
I  will  not  have  thy  Hfe  upon  my  hands. 
No  1     It  is  now  too  late  !     He  stirs  —  he  stirs  ! 
And  if  I  kill  him  now,  I  smother  life. 

[Pulls  blind  aside.     Dawn  enters  chamber. 


20  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

The  dawn  —  the  dawn  !     The  world  wakes, 

and  thou,  too. 
Art  waking  !     Waking !     Is  it  pain  to  thee 
To  hve  ?     And  costs  it  such  a  struggle  then  ? 
Thou  comest  into  Hfe  with  agony, 
Imploring  to  be  left  alone,  —  to  sleep 
On,  as  thou  hast  slept.     Strange ! 

[More  light. 
The  sun  is  up  ! 
And  come,  thou  rising  sun,  rise,  too,  on  him 
As  upon  other  men.     Why  thy  bright  rays 
Search  him.     He  shall  not  flinch  before  thy 

light. 
If  he  be  false  —  counterfeit  man  —  a  dream, 
Then  find  him  out ;  let  him  dissolve  and  melt 
Away  before  thy  beams  —  a  midnight  vision. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  21 

No  !     He  shall  live,  and  shall  rejoice  in  thee  ! 

[Creature  slowly  rises.     He  comes  and 

kneels  before  Aylmer.     As  he  kneels. 

Aylmer    drops    phial    witJi    crash    on 

ground. 

O,  great  God, 
WTiat  have  I  done  ?     Kneel  not  —  kneel  not 

to  me ! 
O  God,  forgive  me  !     KneeHng  before  me  ! 
This  is  a  sin  —  idolatry  1     I  am  no  God, 
But  man,  as  thou  art.     Rise,  I  conjure  thee ; 
rise. 

[Creature  slowly  rises  and  sinks  on 
chair.  The  dawn  foods  the  chamber. 
Blinded  with  the  light,  Creature's 
head  sinks  on  his  hands. 


2  2  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

[Aylmer  retreats  with  eyes  still  fixed  on 

him  to  door  and  exits. 
[As   he   locks   door   outside,   Curtain   de- 
scends. 

SCENE   II 
Scene.  —  The  Same. 

Three  months  are  supposed  to  elapse  between 
Scenes  I  and  II. 
Time.  —  Evening. 

[Aylmer  seated  at  table. 
Aylmer.  Three  months  have  passed  since 
this  Creature  whom  I  created  broke  out  of 
this  dim  room  —  how,  I  know  not.  When 
at  last,  I  dared  to  enter  here  again  to  look 
on  him,  I  found  him  gone.  Then  I  breathed 
freely,   and  thanked  Heaven,   which,  in  its 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  23 

mercy,  had  lifted  this  burden  from  me,  and 
suffered  this  haunting  \'ision  to  depart.  To 
have  kept  him  imprisoned  here  for  ever 
would  have  been  impossible,  and  yet,  if  I 
had  suffered  him  to  pass  this  door,  he  might 
—  who  knows  ?  —  have  met  my  child.  Ah, 
Heaven,  save  me  from  that !  Three  months 
have  passed,  and  he  has  not  returned.  And 
now,  how  should  he?  Xo,  they  can  never 
meet.  How  will  it  fare  with  him  out  yonder 
in  the  world?  Even  now,  perhaps,  he  is 
lying  cold  and  stiff  on  some  bleak  London 
pavement  —  or,  if  not  dead,  he  is  lost  in 
this  vast  city.  He  is  gone !  And  I  feel  once 
more  at  peace.  He  is  gone  —  and  with  him 
is  gone  the  former  life,  solitary,  feverish,  un- 


24  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

natural.  Earth  wins  me  back  again  from 
those  unhallowed  toils  to  the  arms  of  my 
child  —  to  the  life  all  men  should  live  — 
loving  and  being  loved.  What  is  this  Crea- 
ture to  me  now  but  a  vision  ?  —  a  vision  of 
the  night  — •  that  night  when  I  had  well 
nigh  lost  my  reason  to  see  him  kneeling 
before  me,  and  — 

[Enter  Miranda,  carrying  flowers 
Ah,  Miranda ! 

MiRAN.  Look,  father!  Do  look  at  these 
flowers.  You  have  shut  yourself  up  here  so 
long,  you  have  almost  forgotten  there  were 
such  beautiful  things  as  these  springing  all 
the  time  in  the  world  outside.     Smell  them. 

Aylmer.     Yes,  they  rebuke  me.     Shut  up 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  25 

here,  alone,  brooding  over  those  instruments, 
all  my  life  I  have  let  the  beautiful  fresh  world 
go  by.     These  smell  of  rain  and  earth. 

MiRAN.  Yes.  [Begins  to  arrange  flowers 
about  room,  then  stops  in  dismay]  Oh,  I 
could  do  nothing  for  this  room  till  those 
instruments  were  cleared  away.  Do  you 
know,  I  have  a  new  idea.  I  mean  to  make 
this  my  special  room,  and  — 

[Aylmer  shudders. 
—  have  my  piano  in  here.  We  are  to  be 
together  now;  and  this  old  fortress  where 
you  had  entrenched  yourself  so  long,  I  have 
stormed. 

Aylmer.     Well;    have  your  way.     I  have 
surrendered  to  you. 


26  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

MiRAN.  Ah,  father !  you  shall  never  be 
lonely  again. 

Aylmer.  My  child,  you  need  have  no 
fear.  That  old,  sinful  life  is  gone.  I  can- 
not even  look  at  those  instruments  without 
loathing.  No ;  that  night  was  the  last,  as 
I  told  you.  I  and  Science  took  leave  of 
each  other  then  for  ever. 

[They  embrace  and  exit  Aylmer. 

MiRAN.  What  a  new  man  father  is !  In 
that  one  night,  he  broke  with  the  associations 
of  a  life-time,  and  said  farewell  to  Science 
for  ever.  Did  he  succeed  that  night  in  his 
great  discovery?  I  suppose  not;  and  now 
he  has  resigned  himself  to  tranquillity  and 
—  me.     Well,  he  shall  not  return  to  his  old, 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  27 

lonely  life  again,  if  I  can  help  it.  No;  he 
has  shaken  that  off  for  ever.  [Walks  round 
room,  arranging  flowers. 

[The  door  opens  and  the  Creature  ap- 
pears in  entrance. 
Crea.     This  is  the  room  where  I  first  saw 
light ;    but  it  is  changed.     Ah !  who  is  that 
beautiful  being?     Will  she  despise  me  as  all 
others  do  ? 

[Miranda  turns  and  sees  him  at  door. 
MiRAN.     Who   are  you?    Who   told  you 
to  come  here  ?     Who  directed  you  ? 
Crea.     I  have  been  here  before. 
Miran.     Before? 
Crea.    Yes. 
Miran.     When?     But  it  is  cruel  to  ask 


28  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

you  questions.     Sit  here  a  moment.    I  will 
bring  you  some  wine. 

{Exit. 

Crea.  [Looking  round]  Once  more 
within  the  room  where  I  was  born !  There, 
on  that  floor  I  struggled  into  Hfe.  Life? 
Is  this  Hfe  ?  To  be  despised  and  shunned  by 
all !    Yet  she  has  not  turned  from  me. 

[Re-enter  Miranda. 

MiRAN.  Now,  drink  this.  It  will  give 
you  strength. 

[Pause,  in  which  he  drinks. 
Can  I  help  you? 

Crea.  You  help  me  by  speaking  to  me. 
I  could  bear  my  hfe  if  I  might  hear  a  word 
of  pity  now  and  then. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  29 

MiRAN.     Is  your  life,  then,  so  wretched? 

Crea.  There  is  little  I  can  tell  you.  My 
past  life  I  cannot  remember.  All  that  I  feel 
is  in  the  present.  I  have  never  heard,  till 
now,  the  sound  of  one  kind  word. 

MiRAN.     How  strange ! 

Crea.  I  have  wandered  up  and  dowTi 
the  pavements  of  this  vast  city.  I  have 
begged  food  from  door  to  door,  and  been 
repulsed  and  cast  out,  again  and  again,  till 
sheer  misery  drove  me  to  speak  the  language 
those  about  me  spoke.  I  cannot  tell  you 
why,  but  men  seemed  to  shrink  from  me  as 
from  a  man  apart  from  other  men.  Even 
the  homeless  beggars  with  whom  I  crouched 
in  some  dark  archway,  to  escape  the  \vind 


30  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

and  rain,  turned  from  me.  Even  those 
houseless  wanderers,  whose  misery  should 
have  made  them  my  companions,  never 
spoke  to  me.  Were  we  not  all  exiles  to- 
gether? Together  at  war  with  the  world? 
And  should  not  this  have  made  us  friends? 
But,  no  !  I  have  seen  them  leave  the  door  in 
whose  shadow  I  took  refuge,  and  face  the  wild 
weather,  trust  themselves  to  the  pitiless  skies 
rather  than  to  me.  The  rest  I  had  borne — the 
weakness,  the  hunger,  the  blows  —  these  I  had 
borne  as  I  saw  others  round  me  bearing  them. 
But  that  I  could  not  bear  —  I  could  not  bear ! 
MiEAN.  They  shunned  you  because  you 
could  not  help  them.  Beggars  are  like  the 
rich  in  this. 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  31 

Crea.  It  was  not  that.  It  was  not 
that. 

MiRAN.  It  was  that,  and  that  alone. 
But  tell  me  more. 

Crea.  Then,  at  last,  this  great  loneliness 
wrought  on  me  so  that  I  said,  I  will  go  back 
to  this  room,  and  ask  shelter  of  him  who  owns 
it.  /  have  some  claim  on  him,  I  think.  He 
will  not  let  me  die. 

MiRAN.  Let  you  die  !  Why,  do  you  know 
who  owns  this  room  ?     My  father  ! 

Crea.     Your  father  1 

MiRAN.  Yes.  He  will  not  turn  you  away. 
He  is  all  kindness  and  gentleness. 

Crea.  He  must  not  find  me  here  with 
you.     I  will  go. 


32  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

MiRAN.  Stay,  stay !  You  shall  not  go. 
You  have  some  claim,  you  say,  on  my  father. 
You  know  him,  then  ? 

Crea.  Yes.  All  my  life  I  have  known 
him.  Never  were  two  so  closely  bound 
together. 

MiRAN.  You  fear  him?  Is  it  not  so? 
He  has  seemed  to  you  cold,  stern.  For  a 
long  time  even  I,  his  daughter,  thought  of 
him  as  you  do;  but  lately  he  has  given  up 
that  lonely,  studious  Hfe  in  which  you  knew 
him.  He  has  given  up  his  scientific  studies, 
which  made  him  seem  cold  and  hard.  I 
think  he  failed,  one  night,  in  some  great 
experiment. 

Crea.     [^sic^e.]     He  did  fail. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  33 

MiRAN.  And  after  that  night,  he  gave  it 
all  up.  Men  have  no  business  to  shut  them- 
selves up,  away  from  those  who  love  them, 
prying  and  peering  into  what  Heaven  never 
meant  them  to  know.  But  all  that  is  over 
now.  Oh,  you  will  find  him  changed.  If 
you  have  any  claim  on  him,  stay  here  and  I 
know  he  will  help  you. 

Crea.     Will  you  plead  for  me,  if  I  stay? 

MiRAN.     I  will. 

[Creature  sighs  in  happiness. 
He  has  knouTi  what  it  is  to  be  lonely.  He 
will  feel  for  you  all  the  more  because  he  has 
felt. 

Crea.  Ah,  you  do  not  know  what  it  is 
to  have  this  great  need  at  your  heart  —  this 


34  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

continual  crying  out  for  love,  and  never  to 
find  it. 

MiRAN.  Yes,  I  have  felt  a  little  what  you 
feel;  when  my  father  was  wrapt  up  in  his 
studies  —  and  I  would  have  given  worlds  for 
a  look  now  and  then,  to  show  I  was  not  quite 
forgotten. 

Crea.  Ah !  Do  not  speak  of  your  father. 
Tell  me  of  yourself.  You,  too,  have  felt,  you 
say,  this  great  desire.  Have  pity  then  on 
me.  I  am  in  this  great  world,  I  know  not 
why.  Alone  I  have  wandered  through  the 
streets,  alone  have  lived.  Alone,  alone  for 
ever ! 

MiRAN.     Ah  !    do  not  say  that. 

Crea.     Tell  me  —  tell  me,  why  do  men 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  35 

shrink  from  me?     It  seems  there  is  a  great 
gulf  fixed  between  me  and  all  mankind.     A 
gulf  I  cannot  pass.     I  see  them  on  the  other 
side  —  those  human  beings  I  love,  but  who 
love  me  not ;  I  see  them,  but  I  cannot  reach 
to  them.     Oh !  will  there  never  come  a  day 
when  one  of  them  will  look  across  and  see 
me  — on  the  other  side!     Oh!  shall  I  ever 
hear  a  voice  out  of  the  world  of  men  saying, 
"Come,"  or  shall  I  ever  feel  a  hand  stretch- 
ing across  to  lift  me  over  the  wide  gulf  and 
set  me  there  as  a  human  man  with  human 
men!     Ah!  might  I  dare  to  think  that  you 
—  you  have  not  turned  from  me  —  you  do 
not  start  from  my  touch  —  you  do  not  loathe 
me,  —  pity  me,  pity  me  a  little ! 


36  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

MiRAN.  Loathe  you !  Why  should  I  ? 
I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

Crea.  Now,  I  have  found  what  I  had 
sought  so  long !  At  last  —  at  last  I  am 
pitied,  I  am  loved  a  little !  Oh,  let  me  have 
one  to  speak  to,  one  to  whom  I  can  cling.  Do 
not  forbid  me  now !  I  only  know  that  I  was 
scorned,  and  I  am  pitied ;  I  was  loathed,  now 
I  am  loved;  I  was  lonely,  now  I  have  a 
friend !     I  must  love  you  or  I  shall  die. 

[Miranda  makes  a  movement. 
If  I  have  hurt  you,  forgive  me.  Now  I  would 
live  on.  Life  to  me  now  is  beautiful.  Now,  let 
the  great  world  go  by  for  ever.     I  am  happy  ! 

[A  step  is  heard. 
Ah!  he  is  coming!     I  know  his  step,   and 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  37 

tremble  at  it.     He  will  tear  me  in  pieces ! 
Hide  me  —  hide  me  from  him  ! 

MiRAN.     Be  still !    Be  still ! 

Crea.  He  will  send  me  away  from  you. 
I  shall  lose  you. 

MiEAN.  Whoever  it  is,  he  shall  not  hurt 
you.  I  will  stay  by  your  side.  Why,  it  is 
my  father's  step.     Come ;   take  my  hand. 

[Enter  Aylmer. 

Aylmer.     Come  back  !     Come  back ! 

[Creature  throws  himself  at  Aylmer's  feet. 

MiRAN.  Rise,  rise.  No  need  to  kneel. 
Father,  here  is  a  poor  outcast.  He  says  he 
has  some  claim  on  you. 

Aylmer.  None.  Miranda,  leave  us  to- 
gether.    Leave  him  to  me. 


38  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Crea.  Your  promise  !  Stay  by  me  ! 
Aylmer.  Miranda,  leave  him  at  once, 
and  for  ever.  Let  go  his  hand.  You  know 
not  what  you  do.  And  you  who  have  crept 
back  here,  I  banish  you  from  this  room.  I 
command  you  never  to  see  or  hear  her  voice 
again.  Back  —  back  into  the  streets  which 
you  have  left. 

MiRAN.  Father !  You  surely  would  not 
cast  him  out.     He  has  suffered  so  much. 

Aylmer.  So  have  thousands ;  but  they 
suffer  on.  I  tell  you,  I  had  rather  see  you 
in  your  grave  than  holding  his  hand,  as  you 
do  now.  Quit  this  —  creature  whom  you  see 
cowering  on  the  ground  before  me.  For  you 
to  see  him,  to  touch  him,  is  pollution. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  39 

MiRAN.     Ah  !    you  are  cruel. 

Aylmer.     Am  I  to  be  obeyed,  or  not? 

MiRAN.  I  owe  you  all  duty.  That  I 
know.  But  I  have  other  duties.  I  am  a 
woman  born  into  the  world  to  pity  and  con- 
sole, by  a  right  divine  as  your  command.  I 
told  you,  and  I  tell  you  now,  I  have  felt  a 
want  all  my  life  —  something  to  shelter, 
something  to  protect.  I  had  hoped  it  might 
be  your  old  age;  but  you  drive  me  from 
you  by  these  cruel  words.  You  have  left  me 
alone  all  this  while  to  think  for  myself  —  to 
teach  myself  —  while  you  sat  apart,  deep  in 
science.  Well,  I  have  lived  this  life.  I  have 
learned  to  think  for  myself,  and  I  feel  —  I 
know  that  I  should  pity  this  poor  outcast. 


40  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Aylmer.  Then,  hear  me  !  I  demand  that 
you  leave  his  side. 

MiRAN.     Why  ?     Why  ? 

Aylmer.  I  will  not  tell  you  why.  I  will 
not  tell  you  more  than  this.  Is  it  not  enough  ? 
I  command  you  to  leave  him. 

[Miranda  slowly  and  reluctantly  leaves 
Creature,  and  crosses  to  door,  where 
she  stands  during  the  rest  of  speech. 
As  for  you,  you  have  no  claim  on  me.  You 
have  left  me,  and  I  will  not  shelter  you.  Yes, 
you  have  come  back,  like  the  fiend  to  the 
haunted  man.  But  I  will  cast  you  from  me. 
I  have  awakened,  and  I  see  a  new  hfe  opening 
out  before  me  —  a  life  of  love,  of  peace,  at 
last;    and  you  shall  not  stand  between  me 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  41 

and  my  hopes.     Hence,  thou  plague  —  thou 
monster!    Hence  out  into  the  streets,   and 
die  !    Die  quickly ! 
Crea.     Oh !     Oh ! 

MiRAN.     I  cannot  bear  this  1    I  will  stay 
by  you ! 

[Miranda,  who  has  been  standing  at  door, 
at  Aylmer's  last  words  comes  to  Crea- 
ture a)td  stands  by  him.  Aylmer 
sinks  despairingly  down. 

END   OF   scene 

SCENE  III 
[Creature  sleeping  at  back.      Enter 

Aylmer  with  a  light. 

Aylmer.     He   sleeps ;    and   he   must   not 

wake.     Even  now 


42  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

He  has  divided  me  from  all  I  love. 

My  child  has  turned  from  me.     He  must  not 

live. 
It  is  no  sin  for  these  my  hands  to  strangle 
What  these  my  hands  created.     God  Himself 
Slays  every  day  what  He  Himself  created, 
Haunted,  perchance,  as  I,  even  in  His  heavens, 
By  cries  and  wild  upbraidings  of  His  creatures, 
Which  follow  Him  and  will  not  let  Him  rest. 
He  takes  the  life  He  gave :   then,  why  not  I? 
O  wretched,  paltry  end  !     That  this  my  work, 
For   which   alone   I   lived :    my   dream,   my 

goal  — 
Cries  out  for  death,  to  be  unmade,  undone ! 
That  these  same  hands  must  shatter  what 

they  shaped ! 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  43 

Yet  he  must  go.     It  is  not  me  alone 
He  menaces,  but  he  has  touched  my  child 
With  his  pollution.     Anything  but  that ! 
Yet,  if  I  slay  him,  am  I  quit  of  him, 
Therefore,  for  ever  ?     That  if  this  faint  spark 
Of  life  that  I  have  lit  —  if  this  survive 
Beyond  the  grave,  how  will  it  be  hereafter? 
Will  he  not  meet  me  in  that  other  world, 
With  those  imploring  eyes  entreating  me 
A  place  of  rest?     In  which  of  you,  ye  stars, 
Appointed  homes  for  spirits,  into  which, 
If  he  ask  shelter,  will  he  be  received  ? 
Will  he  not  wander  on  for  evermore 
From  world  to  world,  as  here  from  house  to 

house, 
A  stranger  looking  in  upon  a  feast? 


44  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Shall  I  not  see  him,  alien  that  he  is, 
Cast  out,  a  lie,  a  lone,  unnatural  thing, 
Counterfeit  coin  rejected  at  God's  mint, 
Not  with  His  image  stamped,  as  other  men? 
Will  he  not  then  come  back  to  me,  and  I 
Be  forced  to  cherish  him  there,  even  as  here? 
Heaven  grant  this  fire  of  life,  in  rashness  lit, 
May  die  out  here  for  ever !     Else  I  see 
No  end,  no  limit  to  my  folly.     Space 
Will  cast  him  back  on  me.     Eternity 
Consign  him  to  my  keeping  evermore. 
He  wakes ! 

The  Creature.     [Waking] 
Give  me  thy  hand.     Art  thou  not  near  me? 

No, 
She  is  not  here ;  and  thou  hast  parted  us. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  45 

Ah  !  was  it  not  enough,  thou  hard  creator, 
To  force  me  into  life,  unripe  and  harsh, 
Not  coming  Uke  a  flower  thro'  the  earth, 
Eased  with  a  thousand  dews  and  many  rains, 
But  dragged  into  existence?     To  what  end? 
That  thou  might'st  be  a  god.     Shall  I  forget 
The  pain,  the  agony  of  hearing  still 
That  strong,  o'ermastering  voice  that  called 

to  me 
To  live,  still  fighting  to  be  left  alone  ? 
Shall  I  forget  the  pangs  of  being  born  ? 
When  every  sense  was  forced  upon  me,  till 
I  was  compelled  to  see,  to  hear,  to  feel. 
And  burning  life  came  in  my  veins  like  fire. 
And  to  what  end?     That  thou  might'st  be  a 

god. 


46  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

But  was  not  this  enough  ?     At  length  I  lived. 
I  stood  before  you,  and  you  quaked  and  fled 
From  your  creation,  leaving  me  alone. 
From  that  dim  casement  I  looked  down  and 

saw 
Life  streaming  on  below  me,  and  I  chafed 
At  this  my  prison,  and  broke  out  of  it. 
I  wandered  forth  into  the  world  of  men. 
My  heart  went  out  to  them :    I  sought  their 

love, 
Prayed  for  it,  as  a  beggar  prays  for  bread. 
I  found  no  mercy  and  no  pity.     Cast 
Out  Hke  a  dog  from  every  door,  the  rain 
Beat  on  me,  and  the  night  made  me  afraid. 
All  loathed  me,  and  all  started  from  my  touch, 
As,  by  an  instinct  all  too  true,  they  felt 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  47 

My  being  was  not  theirs,  my  birth  not  theirs. 
At  last,  outworn  and  faint,  I  crept  again 
Back  to  this  room  ;  thinking  at  least  thy  pride 
Would  not  permit  the  life  thou  gav'st  to  fail. 
And  then  I  found,  oh !  at  the  last  I  found 
One  that  would  not  reject  me,  knew  not  how 
To  scorn.     She  shrank  not  from  my  touch, 

and  she  — 
She,  out  of  all  the  hurrying,  heartless  crowd  — 
Turned  back,  and  spoke  to  me.     They  were 

the  first 
Soft  words  my  ears  had  heard.     She  made  me 

feel 
That  there  was  no  great  bar,  no  mighty  gulf 
Set  between  me  and  all  mankind  alive. 
Long  had  I  yearned  to  love  and  to  be  loved, 


48  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

And  now,  as  in  a  moment,  it  had  come. 
I  loved  her,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  for  me. 
Then,  as  I  sobbed  and  kissed  her  hand,  I 

heard 
Thy  step  far  off  — ^  I  heard,  and  knew  at  once 
Thee,  my  creator.     And  I  trembled  then 
Even  to  behold  thy  face.     I  knew  that  I 
Had  been  too  happy,  and  thou,  striding  in, 
With  that  same  voice  which  called  on  me  to 

live, 
Forbad'st  me  love. 

Aylmer.  Control  thyself. 

Crea.  What  is 

Control  ?    Thou  gav'st  me  no  control,  but  life. 
And  without  love  I  cannot  live  my  life. 
O  my  creator,  pity  me  a  little !  {Kneels. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  49 

Aylmer.     Rise  from  your  knees. 
Crea.  Or,  if  I  may  not  love, 

May  not  be  loved ;  if  thou  hast  given  me  life. 
And  then  deniest  me  that  on  which  Ufe  lives, 
Then  slay  me  now.  Oh,  send  me  back  again 
To  the  darkness  whence  I  came,  and  to  the 

blank 
From  which  thou  formed'st  me.     Nothing  is 

alone 
Save  me.     I  only  go  companionless. 
Aylmer.     I  will  not  hear!    Thou  askest 
love  of  me 
Thou  lucky  mingling  of  dim  chemistries, 
.  Thou  monster,  bitter  fruit  of  impious  years, 
To  breathe  with   thy  composed,   unnatural 
breath 


^  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Upon  her  face,  pure  as  the  face  of  Heaven ! 

Oh!  horrible! 

Crea.     Slay  me,  then.    Let  me  not  thus 
linger  on, 
Living,  yet  gasping  for  the  breath  of  life. 

Aylmer.     I  will  not  slay  thee.     For  thou 
art  the  crown 
And  flower  of  all  my  Hfe ;   the  end,  result 
Of  long,  laborious  years.     Weak  as  thou  art, 
Suffering  and  wretched,  yet  art  thou  a  man 
As  other  men,  perfect  in  every  sense. 
From  the  four  winds  I  gathered  thee  together. 
The  dews,  the  saps,  ay,  the  great  Sun  himself 
Have  I  made  minister  to  thy  creation.     All 
My  Hfe  without  thee  is  a  waste,  a  blank. 
For  thy  sake  I  am  old  before  my  time. 


COLLECTED  PLAYS  51 

I  have  sold  sleep  for  thee,  that  thou  might'st 

stand 
Before  me,  as  thou  standest,  perfect  man 
And  thou  art  dear  to  me. 

Crea.  Must  I  Kve  on? 

Aylmer.     I  will  not  slay  thee. 
Crea.  Then,  let  my  lonely  life 

Be  near  her  and  lie  round  about  her  path. 
Ah,  let  me  see  her,  catching  but  a  glance 
To  treasure  up  and  feed  on  by  myself. 

Aylmer.     Thou  shalt  not  see  her.     Find 
some  other  out. 
Thy  ways  and  hers  are  parted  evermore. 
Crea.     Can'st    thou    deny    me?     May'st 
tJwn  one  day  feel 
As  I  feel !     May  the  God  who  gave  thee  life 


52  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

Make  it  a  fever  in  thy  veins,  to  cool 

At  one  touch  only,  only  at  one  voice, 

And  may  that  touch  thou  yearnest  for,  that 

voice 
Be  unto  thee  a  thing  forbidden,  dead ! 
May    He    look    down    out    of    His    terrible 

Heavens, 
And  say,  "As  thou  forbadest  thy  creation 
To  love,  so  I  forbid  thee  ! "     May'st  thou  pray 
To    die,    and    death    shall    be    denied    thee ! 

Then, 
When  love  is  to  thee  what  it  is  to  me. 
Then  shalt  thou  turn,  and  cursing  thy  Creator, 
Execrate  Him  as  thee  I  execrate, 
Casting  thy  life  back  in  His  teeth,  as  I 
Cast  mine  back  upon  thee  !  [Falls. 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  53 

Aylmer.     What  ails  you  ?     Say 
Crea.     I  am  dying  of  thy  cruelty.     I  am 
failing ! 
Oh  !  call  her.    Let  me  see  her.     Call  her  quick. 
[Enter  Miranda.] 
MiRAN.     I  am  here. 
Aylmer.     He  has  called  for  you.     He  is 

dying  —  failing  fast. 
Crea.     Ah,    you    have    come !     I    cannot 
Hnger  on 
In  life,  since  love  I  may  not  have ;  and  now 
I  am  dying. 

Miran.        But  /  love  and  pity  you. 
Crea.     It  may  not  be.     Ah !  were  it  not 
for  you, 
I  could  almost  believe  this  were  a  dream  — 


54  COLLECTED   PLAYS 

This  little  feverish  hfe  that  I  have  lived  — ■ 
A  dream  that  I  could  gladly  shake  from  me, 
And  sleep  again.     But  you  have  made  it  real, 
Too  real !    and  I  have  felt  too  much  to  think 
This  were  a  vision.     I  could  have  forgot 
The  agonies  of  birth,  the  wanderings ; 
But  this  I  cannot  put  away  —  forget, 
As  I  came  into  Hfe  with  agony, 
So  I  am  leaving  it  with  ease.     I  seem 
To  ebb  away,  and  you  are  growing  dim. 
Yet  I  still  cHng  to  life,  for  you  are  here. 
Give  me  more  life  !     Ah  !  let  me  not  sink  back 
Into  a  place  where  she  is  not  —  a  blank  ! 
Give  me  the  torture  and  the  loneUness ; 
Give  me  the  burning  sun,  the  world  of  men, 
The  cursed,  forbidden  Hfe,  but  only  you  — 


COLLECTED   PLAYS  SS 

I  cannot  lose  you  ! 

[Appeals  to  Aylmer,  who  sits  silent. 
You  will  not  let  me  die  ? 
To  die  while  you  are  living  at  my  side ! 
To  have  seen  you,  and  to  lose  you  !  Oh,  can  this 
Be  possible  !     Is  torture  such  as  this 
Permitted  ?     This  grim  life  I  would  not  leave, 
For  you  have  made  it  dear  to  me. 

Aylmer.     [Comes  to  him,  much  moved] 
Forgive  me,  poor  lone  being !     I  have  brought 
This  agony  upon  you ;  I  have  made 
You  feel :  have  put  you  on  the  rack.     O  God ! 
I  have  brought  more  suffering  into  Thy  world. 

Crea.  It  had  been  better  had  you  let  me  rest. 
I  have  known  sorrow,  which  I  had  not  then. 
But  I  shall  never  see  you  any  more. 


S6  COLLECTED  PLAYS 

Nor  you  —  nor  you  !  — 

MiRAN.  We  have  a  faith  which  says 

That,  in  another  world,  we  yet  may  meet 
Those  whom  we  loved,  and  see  them  face  to 
face. 
Crea.    Ah !  but  your  faith  is  not  for  me. 
I  am 
A  thing  apart.    Your  beautiful  promises 
I  have  no  share  in.    Others  —  others  may 

meet 
But  I  no  more  shall  see  you.    Never  more ! 
[He  dies.    Aylmer  and  Miranda  hanging 
over  him. 
MiRAN.     Father,  what  was  he  to  you  ? 
Aylmer.  He  was  —  my  child ! 

CXJRTAIN 


ULYSSES 

A  DRAMA  IN  A  PROLOGUE  &  THREE  ACTS 

BY 

STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 


CHARACTERS 

ON   OLYMPUS 

Zeus  (^Jupiter),  with  thunderbolt. 

Poseidon  {A'epiune),  with  trident. 

Hermes  {Mercury),  with  caduceus  and  winged  sandals. 

Athene  {Minerva),  with  spear,  shield,  and  regis. 

Aphrodite  (  Vemis),  with  roses  and  doves. 

Ares  {Mars),v/\ih  spear  and  shield;  Apollo,  with 
lyre;  Heph^stus  {Vtilcan),  with  hammer  and  pin- 
cers; Demeter  {Ceres),  with  cornsheaf,  wreath,  and 
veil;  Hestia  {Vesta),  with  veil  and  sceptre;  Arte- 
mis {Diana),  with  bow  and  quiver;  Ganymede, 
cupbearer  to  the  gods. 

ON   EARTH 
Athene. 
Hermes. 
Calypso,  the  Nymph  of  the  Island  Ogygia. 

Ulysses. 

Penelope,  his  wife. 

Telemachus,  his  son. 

EURVCLEIA,  his  old  nurse. 

Antinous  (young,  insolent,  splendid)        1  ^,  .  ^  ^   . 

.  .  Chief  Suitors  to 

Eurymachus  (mature,  politic,  specious)   >      Pfnelope 

Ctesippus  (elderly,  rich,  ridiculous)  J 

Eum>eus,  a  swineherd. 

7 


8  CHARACTERS 

Melanthius,  a  goatherd. 

Peir^us,  a  steward. 

Pheidon,  a  gardener. 

Melantho  \ 

Clytie  V  handmaidens. 

Chloris       J 

Elpenor    )       ., 

>  sailors. 

Phocion    ) 

Suitors,  Handmaidens,  Attendants,  Sea-Nymphs, 
Sailors,  etc. 

IN   HADES 

Ulysses. 
Hermes. 

Ghosts  of  Ph^dra,  Eurvdice,  Suicides,  Lovers,  and 

Children. 
Charon. 

Ghost  of  Teiresias  (a  prophet). 
Ghost  of  Agamemnon. 
Ghost  of  Anticleia  (the  mother  of  Ulysses). 

Furies,  Tantalus,  Sisyphus,  Prometheus. 


PROLOGUE 


ULYSSES 

PROLOGUE 

The  curtain  rising  discloses  the  summit  of  Olym- 
pus, an  amphitheatre  of  marble  hills  in  a 
glimmering  light  of  dawn :  where  the  hills 
fall  away,  a  distant  view  of  the  world,  with 
countries  and  rivers,  is  seen  far  below.  Near 
the  front  are  the  seats  of  the  gods,  cut  in  an 
irregular  semicircle  in  the  rock.  As  the  scene  pro- 
gresses the  morning  light  grows  clearer,  descend- 
ing gradually  frotn  the  mountain  summit  over 
the  figures  of  the  assejnbled  gods.  In  the  centre, 
Zeus,  with  the  empty  seat  of  Hera  beside  him; 

to  his  right  Athene,  Apollo,  Artemis,  Hermes, 
II 


12  ULYSSES 

and  Hestia;    to   his  left  Poseidon,  Demeter, 
Ares,  Aphrodite,  and  Hepilestus. 

Athene.     \_Comes  forward   with     outstretched 

armsJ]     Father,   whose   oath   in   hollow  hell 

is  heard  ; 

Whose  act  is  lightning  after  thunder-word ; 

A  boon !   a  boon  !   that  I  compassion  find 

For  one,  the  most  unhappy  of  mankind. 

Zeus.   How  is  he  named? 

Ath.  Ulysses. 

[Poseidon  starts  forward,   but  is  checked 

by  Zeus. 

He  who  planned 

To  take  the  towered  city  of  Troy-land; 

A  mighty  spearsman,  and  a  seaman  wise, 

A  hunter,  and  at  need  a  lord  of  lies. 

With  woven  wiles  he  stole  the  Trojan  town 

Which  ten  years  battle  could  not  batter  down : 


UL  YSSES  13 

Oft  hath  he  made  sweet  sacrifice  to  thee. 

Zeus.   \_Nodding  benevolently^     I  mind   me   of 
the  savoury  smell. 

Ath.  Yet  he, 

When  all  the  other  captains  had  won  home, 
Was  whirled  about  the  wilderness  of  foam ; 
For   the   wind    and    the   wave   have   driven  him 

evermore 
Mocked  by  the  green  of  some  receding  shore ; 
Yet  over  wind  and  wave  he  had  his  will, 
Blistered  and  buffeted,  unbaffled  still. 
Ever  the  snare  was  set,  ever  in  vain; 
The  Lotus  Island  and  the  Siren  strain ; 
Through  Scylla  and  Charybdis  hath  he  run, 
Sleeplessly  plunging  to  the  setting  sun. 
Who  hath  so  suffered,  or  so  far  hath  sailed. 
So  much  encountered,  and  so  little  quailed  ? 

Zeus.   What  wouldst  thou  ? 


14  UL  YSSES 

Ath.  This !   that  he  at  last  may  view 

The  smoke  of  his  own  fire  upcurling  blue. 

Poseidon.     \_Starti71g  forward   with   menacing 
gestured]      Father   of  Gods,   this    man  hath 
stricken  blind 
My  dear  son  Polyphemus,  and  with  wind. 
With  tempest  and  a  roaring  wall  of  waves, 
I  fling  him  backward  from  the  shore  he  craves. 
Sire  !  if  this  insolence  unpunished  go 
We  soon  shall  lack  all  reverence  below; 
It. will  be  said,  'The  arm  of  Zeus  doth  shake, 
Let  none  henceforward  at  his  thunder  quake  !  * 

[Zeus  moves  uneasily. 
This  man  is  mine !      \_Sinkes  trident  on  ground."] 

By  me  let  him  be  hurled 
From  sea  to  sea,  and  dashed  about  the  world  ! 
Ath.     Hath    not  Ulysses   through   such   travail 
trod 


ULYSSES  15 

As  might  appease  even  anger  of  a  god  ? 
Monarch  of  monstrous  rage  — 

l^Wifh  furious  gesture  at  Poseidon, 
Thou  who  dost  launch 
The  crested  seas  in  streaming  avalanche  ! 
Lord  of  the  indiscriminate  earthquake  throe, 
Of  huge  and  random  elemental  blow, 
Thou  who  dost  drink  up  ships,  and  swallow  down 
AHke  the  pious  and  the  impious  town, 
Whose  causeless  fury  maketh  men  mistrust 
If  there  be  gods,  or  if  those  gods  be  just; 
Thy  rancour  is  eternal  as  thy  life. 
Thy  genius  ruin,  and  thy  being  strife  ! 

Pos.    {_Tauntingly.'\      And    thou,    demure    de- 
fender of  chaste  lives. 
Smooth  patroness  of  virgins  and  of  wives, 
I'll  pluck  from  thee  the  veil  thy  craft  doth  wear, 
The  secret  burning  of  thy  heart  declare. 


i6  UL  YSSES 

Thy  marble  front  of  maidenhood  conceals 
Such  wandering  passion  as  a  wanton  feels. 
What  is  thy  heavenly  sympathy  but  this, 
To  find  occasion  for  Ulysses'  kiss? 
I  will  proclaim  thee  to  Olympus  — 

[Poseidon  and  Athene  start  forward,  threat- 
ening each  other  with  trident  and  lance, 

Zeus.  Peace, 

Children,  and  from  your  shrill  reviling  cease  ! 
Do  thou,  Poseidon,  for  thy  part,  revere 
The  dower  of  her  divinity  severe  : 
And,  daughter,  gird  not  at  his  gloomier  might. 
His  spoil  of  morning  wrecks  from  furious  night. 
Endowed  is  he  with  violence  by  that  law  — 

Which  gives  thee  wisdom  —  and  thy  father  awe. 

Ath.  Of  reverence  speak'st  thou?    Then  Ulys- 
ses urge 
Back  to  his  home  irreverence  to  scourge; 


ULYSSES  17 

There  weeps  his  wife   Penelope,  hard  driven 
By  men  who  spurn  at  law  and  laugh  at  heaven. 
A  swarm  of  impious  wooers  waste  his  halls, 
Devour  his  substance  and  corrupt  his  thralls: 
They  cry  about  her  that  her  lord  is  dead, 
They  bay  around  her  for  the  marriage  bed  — 
Zeus.  [_Solemniy.']  Ulysses  shall  return  ! 
Pos.  \_Starting  forward.']  Cloud- 

gatherer,  stay  ! 
Zeus.   Yet   canst   thou   work   him   mischief  on 
the  way. 
In  thy  moist  province  none  can  interfere; 
There  thou  alone  art  lord,  as  I  am  here. 
Where  bides  the  man? 

Ath.  Calypso  this   long  while 

Detains  him  in  her  languorous  ocean-isle, 
Ogygia,  green  on  the  transparent  deep. 
There  did  she  hush  his  spirit  into  sleep, 

B 


1 8  UL  YSSES 

And  all  his  wisdom  swoons  beneath  the  charm 
Of  her  deep  bosom  and  her  glimmering  arm.   . 
Release  him,  sire,  from  soft  Calypso's  wile, 
""^Q-^  And  dreamy  bondage  on  the  Witching  Isle. 

Zeus.  {Oracularly. "]  Go,  Hermes,  and  unweave 
(  i^  her  magic  art. 

Then  let  him  choose ;  to  hnger,  or  depart. 
Yet  ere  he  touch  at  last  his  native  shore 
Ulysses  must  abide  one  labour  more. 

Athene.   Say  !  say  ! 

Zeus.  The  shadowy  region  must 

he  tread, 
And  breathing  pace,  amid  the  breathless  dead, 
The  track  of  terror  and  the  slope  of  gloom, 
To  learn  from  ghosts  the  tidings  of  his  doom^  ' 

Ath.  O  spare  him,  Father,  spare  him  — 

Zeus.  He  must  go 

From  dalliance  to  the  dolorous  realm  below. 


ULYSSES  19 

Ath.  Remember,    sire,   she   snared   with   spells 
his  will. 
But  his  deep  heart  for  home  is  hungering  still. 

Hermes.  \_Mischievously ,  pointing  at  Apollo.] 
And,  sire,  remember,  we  are  gods,  yet  we 
From  human  frailties  were  not  ever  free. 
If  even  immortals  genially  stray, 
Shall  we  be  merciless  to  mortal  clay? 
But  lately  the  sun-god  himself  was  seen 
Snatching  at  Daphne's  robe  upon  the  green. 
Aphrodite.  [  With  soft  insinuation. '\  And  even 
thou,  O  Father  —  in  thy  youth  — 
Didst  feel,  at  least  for  mortal  women,  ruth. 
To  Leda,  Leto,  Danae,  we  are  told. 
Didst  show  thee  on  occasion  tender  — 

[Zeus  thunders  softly.  General  suppressed 
laughter  among  the  gods.  Zeus  thunders 
loudly:  all  the  gods  abase  themselves. 


ao  ULYSSES 

Zeus.  Hold ! 

'Tis  true  that  earthly  women  had  their  share 
In  this  large  bosom's  universal  care, 
That  Danae,  Leda,  Leto,  all  had  place 
In  my  most  broad  beneficent  embrace : 
True  that  we  gods  who  on  Olympus  dwell 
With  mortal  passion  sympathise  too  well. 

[^Sighs  deeply. 
But,  daughter,  'tis  not  I  that  do  impose 
Upon  Ulysses  this  the  last  of  woes. 
I  to  no  higher  wisdom  make  pretence 
Than  to  expound  eternal  sapience. 
It  is  that  power  which  rules  us  as  with  rods, 
Lord  above  lords  and  god  behind  the  gods; 
Fate  hath  decreed  Ulysses  should  abide 
More  toils  and  fiercer  than  all  men  beside: 
Heavily  homeward  must  he  win  his  way 
Through  lure,  through  darkness,  anguish,  and  delay. 


UL  YSSES  •! 

Ath.   Yet  swear  he  shall  return  ! 
Zeus.  If  ^^  can  dare 

Through  shadow  of  the  grave  to  reach  the  air. 
Ath.   Then  swear  it  by  the  Styx  ! 
Zeus.    .  I  swear  it. 

{Rolling  thunder  is  heard  beneath. 
Herm.  Hark ! 

'Tis  ratified  by  rivers  of  the  dark  ! 

Ath.   I'll  to  Telemachus  his  son,  and  fire 
His  heart  to  prove  him  worthy  of  his  sire. 
{To   Hermes.]     Thou   to    Ogygia    in    the    violet 

sea, 
To  touch  Ulysses  and  to  set  him  free. 

{Exit  Athene. 
Pos.   And  I,  Ulysses,  will  thy  bark  waylay  ! 
And  though  thou  must  return,  thou  shalt  not  say 
Thou  wast  afflicted  lightly  on  the  way. 

{Exit  Poseidon. 


22  UL  YSSES 

Zeus.     \To  Hermes.]     Hermes,  command  Ca- 
lypso to  release 
Ulysses,  and  to  waft  him  over  seas ; 
Yet  she  shall  not  forewarn  him  that  his  fate 
Permits  him  homeward  but  through  Hades'  gate. 

\^Exit  Hermes. 
\To   Ganymede.]    The    cup,    bright    Ganymede! 

Ah,  from  the  first 
The  guiding  of  this  globe  engendered  thirst. 

[Zeus  drinks :   Olympus  fades. 


ACT   I 


ACT  I 

Scene  I 
Forecourt  of  the  palace  of  Ulysses  at  Ithaca^ 
with  stone  seats  disposed  around  it.  Towards 
one  side,  the  front  of  the  palace,  with  portico 
and  pediment  richly  decorated  in  the  Mycencean 
style.  Separated  from  this,  a  building  contain- 
ing the  women'' s  apartments,  from  a  gallery 
in  which  a  flight  of  stairs  leads  down  into  the 
court.  A  boundary  wall  encloses  both  build- 
ings :  in  the  interval  betiveen  them,  the  moun- 
tains of  Ithaca  are  seen  above  the  wall.  To 
the  right  a  low  colonnade,  over  which  appear 
the   trees   of   the   orchard — apples,  pears,  figs, 

25 


26  UL  YSSES 

etc.,  with  a  great  vine  trailing  into  the  court. 
In  the  court,  a  scetie  of  luild  laughter,  uproar, 
and  prodigal  confusion :  some  of  the  Suitors 
dancing  in  abandonment  with  the  Handmaidens, 
while  others  pour  out  of  the  central  door  of 
the  palace  to  join  the  rout.  Telemachus  is 
seen  sitting  moodily  apart.  At  last  the  dance 
ends  in  breathless  disorder. 

Ani'inous.  Come,  Clytie,  I  have  no  breath  left, 
sit  on  my  knee  and  drink  from  this  cup  !  No  ! 
I'll  have  fresh  wine.  \_Pours  it  on  floor.l^  A 
fresh  jar. 

Ctesippus.  Now  may  the  Lady  Penelope  defer 
her  answer  so  long  as  she  pleases.  This  way  of 
life  suits  me.  \_A  Handmaid  empties  cup  of  wine 
over  hitn.']  Fetch  up  fresh  jars  from  the  cool 
earth  ! 


ULYSSES  a? 

Melantho,     \_Entertng  from   door    in   wall  to 

left  of  house,  and  holding   up   key.']     I   have 

the  keys  of  the  great  wine  vault. 

PEIR.EUS.   Ah  !  you  have  stolen  my  keys  !    How 

shall  I  meet  Ulysses  ! 

\_Ererrone  laughs. 

Mel.    Come  with  me,  some  of  you,  and  bring 

up  fresh  jars. 

[^Exit  1VIEL.A.NTHO  With  three  Suitors. 

Enter  three  Haxdmaids,  loaded  with  floiuers 
and  branches  of  fruit  —  figs,  apples, 
pears,  grapes,  pomegranates,  folloiued  by 
Pheidon. 

Chloris.     See !    see  !    we    have    stripped    the 
great  orchard.      Here  !    here  ! 

\Tliey   fiing  fruits    and    flowers    over 
Suitors. 


28  UL  YSSES 

Pheidon.  Princes,  princes !  Years  and 
years  have  I  tended  these  plants  and  trees, 
and  in  a  moment  they  are  torn  up,  and  all  the 
fruitage  of  the  summer  squandered.  Ah  !  if  my 
master  should  return  ! 

Ctes.   That  need  not  trouble  you. 

\_All  laugh. 
\_A   wild  scene   of  flinging  fruits    and   red, 
white   and  purple  flowers   ensues. 

Re-enter    Melantho    and    SiriTORS,    rolling 
fresh  jars  of  wine. 

Antin.  Break  off  the  necks,  and  let  the  wine 
run  on  the  floors  —  I'll  cool  my  feet ;  and  drench 
this  wreath  again !  Ulysses  is  dead,  or  if  he 
live,  we  are  masters  here  to-day. 

\^Jars  are  broken,  wine  flows  on  floor. 

All.    Ha!  Ha!  Ha  I 


UL  YSSES  29 

Enter  Eurycleia,  the  old  nurse,  followed  by 
two  faithful  Handmaids  bearing  work- 
baskets,    etc. 

EuRYCL.  O,  you  vile  handmaidens !  that  sit 
on  princes'  knees  and  drink  the  wine  of  your 
master  who  was  ever  kind  to  you. 

Girls.    La  !  la  !  la  !  la  !  la  ! 

EuRYCL.  Oh !  may  you  never  come  to  a 
husband's  bed  !  but  wither  unwooed  to  the  grave  ! 

Antin.  The  old  dame  is  envious !  Here, 
Ctesippus,  you  still  lack  a  damsel.  Take  her 
and  comfort  her  !     Kiss  her,  kiss  her,  Ctesippus  ! 

EuRYCL.     Wiser  to  let  her  be  ! 

{They  drag  Ctesippus  to  Eurycleia  and 
push    him    towards  her. 

Ctes.  Her  time  is  past  —  young  lips  for  a  man 
of  my  spirit. 


30  ULYSSES 

Mel.     Men  reach  not  for  withered  apples ! 

Clyt.    Parchment  face  ! 

Mel.   You  skin  hung  in  the  wind  to  dry  1 

All.    Ha!  ha!  ha! 

EuRYCL.   O  !    when  Ulysses  shall  return  — 

All.    Ha!  ha!  ha! 

EuRYCL.    For  return  he  shall  — 

All.    Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

EuRYCL.  O !  then  may  he  not  spare  you, 
women  though  ye  are,  but  strike  you  down  with 
the  men  —  fools  !  wantons  !  thieves  ! 

Mel.  \_To  faithful  Handmaids.]  Why  slave 
under  that  bitter  hag  when  you  can  have  the 
kisses  and  the  gold  of  princes? 

Antin.  What  would  he  do  —  one  man 
amongst  us  all? 

EuRYCL.      Kill     you !      kill     you !      kill     you ! 

Ulysses  !     Ulysses  ! 

\_She  is  hustled  off. 


UL  YSSES  31 

Enter  other    Suitors    dragging  in    Eum«us, 
the  swineherd. 

Suitor.  Here  is  the  man  who  sends  us  the 
lean  swine. 

Antin.    Bring  him  before  me  ! 

EuM.  Princes,  I  am  but  a  serving- man  and 
have  respect  unto  my  lords.  Shall  I  serve  up 
a  dish  that  would  poison  the  great  princes? 

A>rnN.    Poison  us? 

Ctes.    {Turning pale.']    What  does  he  say? 

EuM.  My  lords,  a  fever  is  fallen  upon  the 
swine  !     To  eat  them  were  death. 

Ctes.   Ah  !  ah  ! 

A  Suitor.   What,  what,  Ctesippus  ! 

Ctes.     Ah !     the     pain  !      the     pain !      I     am 

poisoned!  {Alllaugh. 

Do  I  swell?  do  I  swell  already? 


32  UL  YSSES 

Suitors.  {With  mock  solemnity P^  Farewell, 
farewell,  Ctesippus,  thy  death  is  on  thee  ! 

Ctes.    Help  me  within  doors  !     Ah  !  ah  ! 

{Exit   Ctesippus,    supported  by   Hand- 
maidens. 

Antin.   \To  EuMiEus.]   This  is  a  lie ! 

EuM.  There  are  but  two  left  of  the  whole 
herd,  and  already  I  like  not  the  countenance  of 
one  of  them  ! 

Antin.    It  is  a  lie  to  keep  us  from  our  food  ! 

Melanthius.  [  Obsequiously^  Believe  him  not, 
most  noble  Antinous  !  But  I,  it  is  my  pleasure  to 
bring  you  what  I  have;  fat  kids;  sweet  morsels 
for  my  noble  lords.  He  hath  hidden  the  swine 
away,   most   mighty  Antinous. 

Antin.  Go,  drag  him  out,  and  drive  in  the 
swine. 

Suitors.   Come,  come :  show  us  the  swine ! 


ULYSSES  33 

EuM.   And  so  I  will.      \_Aside.']     But   not   the 

fat  ones.  [^Exeunt  Eunleus  and  Suitors. 

Antin.    [^To   Servants  within.']     A  fresh  feast, 

and  swiftly  ! 

\^To  Suitors  and  Handmaids.] 
Meantime  a  brief  sleep,  for  the  sun  bears  heavily 
on  us.     Come,  Clytie,  my  head  on  your  lap. 
A  Suitor,   And  you  with  me,  Melantho. 

\_The  Suitors  He  down   in   various  attitudes 
with  the  Handmaidens. 

Re-enter  Ctesippus,  who  starts  in  horror, 

Ctes.   Ah  !  they  are  dead  already. 
Antin.   Cease,  old  fool,  and  sleep  awhile. 

[Ctesippus  ties  down. 

Athene  appears,  and  stands  by  Telemachus. 

Athene.   What  man  art  thou? 
c 


34  UL  YSSES 

Telem.  O  goddess  bright ! 

Ath.  Be  still; 

Where  is  Ulysses'  son? 

Telem.  I  am  he. 

Ath.  Thou  he  ! 

Where  is  Ulysses'  son?     Gone  on  a  journey? 
Or  dead,  that  this  is  suffered  in  his  halls? 

Telem.    Nay,  goddess ;  I  am  he  !     {^Buries  his 
face  in  his  hands.'] 

Ath.  Art  thou  his  son? 

Art  thou  the  child  of  the  swift  and  terrible  one? 
Could  he  who  shattered  Troy  beget  thee  too? 
What  dost  thou  here,  thy  head  upon   thy  hands, 
While  all  the  floor  runs  with  thy  father's  wine, 
And  drunken  day  reels  into  lustful  night? 
What  more  must  these  men  do  to  make  thee  wroth  ? 
How  scratch,  how  bite,  how  wound  thee  to  find 
blood? 


UL  YSSES  35 

O,  should  Ulysses  come  again,  how  long, 

How    long    should    strangers   glut    themselves   at 

ease? 
Why,  he  would  send  a  cry  along  the  halls 
That   with     the     roaring     all     the     walls     would 

rock, 
And  the  roof  bleed,  anticipating  blood, 
With  a  hurrying  of  many  ghosts  to  hell 
When    he    leapt    amid    them,   when    he    flashed, 

when  he  cried. 
When  he    flew  on    them,   when    he   struck,  when 

he  stamped  them  dead  ! 
Jp  !  up  !  here  is  thy  Troy,  thy  Helen  here  ! 
Telem.   Goddess,  I  am  but   one  and  they  are 

many. 
Ath.   Thou  art  innumerable  as  thy  wrongs. 
Hist !  how  they  sleep  already  like  the  dead  ! 

[Athene  disappears. 


36  ULYSSES 

Telem.    How  would  my  father  find  me  should 
he  come  ! 
Weak,  weak  !    How  have  I  raged  and  fumed  in  vain, 
And  pondered  on  the  doing  !     Now  to  do  ! 

\^He  starts  up. 
\_Dunng  the  ensuing  speech    of  Telemachus, 
the   Suitors  gradually   awake   and  rise, 
some  stretching  themselves  and  yawning. 
Antinous  and  Eurymachus,  and  the  rest  ! 
Too  long  have  I  borne  to  see  you  snatch  and  spoil, 
And  eat  and  swill,  and  gibe  and  ravish.     Now, 
Now  from  this  moment  I'll  stand  master  here ; 
Lord  of  my  own  hall,  ruler  of  this  hearth. 
I'll  flit  no  more  a  phantom  at  your  feasts. 
Discouraged  and  discarded  and  disdained. 
I  am  the  son  of  him  whom  all  men  feared, 
And  if  he  live  I  hold  his  place  in  trust ; 
If  he  be  dead  I  stand  up  in  his  room. 


UL  YSSES  37 

Now  on  the  instant,  out !  out  at  the  doors  ! 

[Antinous  yawns  loudly. 
Ctes.  Are  we  awake,  or  do  we  all  still  dream? 
Telem.   Take  wing,  you  vultures  that   too  long 
have  perched  ! 
Hence,   hence,   you   rats   that    gnaw   my   father's 
grain. 
EuRVM.  I  rub  my  eyes:  is  this  Telemachus? 
Telem.    I'll   have   no   tarrying !      Out,  out  ere 
ye  wake  ! 
The  spirit  of  my  sire  descends  on  me, 
And  'tis  Ulysses  that  cries  out  on  you; 
You  by  the  throat,  Antinous,  I  take. 

\He  makes  towards  Antinous,  who  still  holds 
Clvtie    in   his   arms,   while   she   laughs 
impudently  at  Telemachus. 
Antin.  Softly,  sir,  softly  !     Clytie,  do  not  laugh, 
This  is  your  lord  ! 


38  ULYSSES 

Ctes.  I  like  to  see  such  mettle  ! 

EuRYM.  Be  not  too  rough  with  him,  Antinous  \ 
Antin.   a   moment,    sir,    before    you    cast    us 
out  — 

\_IIe  laughs,  as  do  the  others  till  he  recovers 
himself. 
Before  you  cast  us  out  —  as  easily 
Doubtless  you  could  ! 
A  Suitor.  We  are  helpless  and  o'er- 

matched  ! 
EuRYM.  Sad  Ithaca,  when  such  a  tyrant  rules  ! 
Ctes.  Reach  down  thy  father's  bow  and  shoot 

us  dead  ! 
Telem.   \_To    himself,    while    Eurymachus    and 
other  Suitors  at  back  are  consulting  in  whis' 
pers  how  to  deal  with  hijn.~\ 
Fool,  fool !  I  have  but  made  myself  a  jest : 
It  was  not  thus  Athene  meant.     Fool,  fool ! 


ULYSSES  39 

EuRYM.   [  Coming  fonvard  to  Telemachus  from 
others  at  back.']     One  word  !     You   say  that 
we  devour  your  halls, 
That  we  are  vultures,  rats.     Yet  answer  this, 
Do  we  bide  here,  then,  of  our  own  indining? 
We  come  to  woo  your  mother  —  are  your  guests, 
And  we  would  have  an  answer  ere  we  go  ! 
All.  An  answer,  yes  ! 

Antin.  {Starting  up.]  An  answer  from  her  lips, 
Which  one  of  us  she  chooses  for  a  husband. 
Have  we  not  seen  moon  kindle  after  moon 
And  still  she  puts  us  by  !     How  long,  how  long  ! 
Telem.   Eurymachus,    I    have    blustered    windy 
threats ; 
But  'tis  a  grievous  office  thus  to  sit 
A  master  and  no  master  in  my  halls : 
And  still  I  say  you  do  me  injury, 
Devouring  thus  the  substance  of  my  sire  ! 


40  ULYSSES 

Antin.  Then  let  your  mother  make  her  choice 
of  us ! 
Would  she  have  strength  and  splendour  of  the  limbs, 
Sap  of  the  body  and  youth's  burning  blood, 
I  Httle  doubt  on  whom  her  choice  will  fall. 
EuRYM.  Nor  I  —  would   she   have  prudence  in 
her  lord 
And  craft. 

Ctes.         And  I  say  nothing,  but  I  know 
A  woman  before  prudence  chooseth  gold. 

Antin.  \Striking  table ^    And    till    she    answer, 
none,  not  Zeus  himself 
Nor  all  the  gods  shall  turn  me  out  of  door. 
EuRYM.    Come,   drink,   Telemachus ;    we    wish 
thee  well. 
'Tis  difificult  for  thee  :  I'd  be  thy  friend. 
Come,   lad !    \_Putting   his    arm    about   Telema- 
chus.] 


UL  YSSES  41 

Telem.       I'll  not  drink  with  you.     What  to  do  ? 
EuRYM.  Now  that  this  little  tempest  is  o'erblown, 
Sing  to  us,  minstrel,  and  chase  wrath  away. 
Come  and  sit  near  to  me,  Telemachus. 

Ctes.   [/«  lachrymose  matiner.']     Sing,  minstrel, 
sing  us  now  a  tender  song 
Of  meeting  and  parting,  with  the  moon  in  it; 
I  feel  that  I  could  love  as  I  loved  once. 

\_Sighs  deeply.     All  laugh. 
Minstrel.    O  set  the  sails,  for  Troy,  for  Troy 
is  fallen, 

And  Helen  cometh  home  ; 
O  set  the  sails,  and  all  the  Phrygian  winds 

Breathe  us  across  the  foam  ! 
O  set  the  sails  unto  the  golden  West ! 

It  is  o'er,  the  bitter  strife. 
At  last  the  father  cometh  to  the  son, 
And  the  husband  to  the  wife  ! 


42  ULYSSES 

\_During  this  so7ig  Penelope   has  softly   de- 
scended, accompanied  by  two  Handmaids, 
and    stands     listening     unnoticed.      She 
holds  her  veil  before  her  face. 
And  she  shall  fall  upon  his  heart 

With  never  a  spoken  word  — 
Pen.    \_Dropping  veil.']     Cease,  minstrel,  cease, 
and  sing  some  other  song; 
Thy  music  floated  up  into  my  room. 
And  the  sweet  words  of  it  have  hurt  my  heart. 
Others  return,  the  other  husbands,  but 
Never  for  me  that  sail  on  the  sea-line. 
Never  a  sound  of  oars  beneath  the  moon, 
Nor  sudden  step  beside  me  at  midnight : 
Never  Ulysses  !     Either  he  is  drowned 
Or  his  bones  lie  on  the  mainland  in  the  rain. 
[^The   Suitors  gather  around  her  admiringly 
and  importunately. 


UL  YSSES  43 

Antin.    Lady,  he  sang  to  chase  away  our  wrath. 
Thy  son,  Telemachus,  upbraids  us  all 
That   we   stay   here    too   long,   and  cries,   *  Out ! 

out!' 
But  we  await  your  answer,  still  deferred  : 
Deferred  from  day  to  day,  from  month  to  month. 
I,  I  at  least  no  longer  will  be  fooled, 
Whose  pent  and  flooding  passion  foams  at  bars. 
Choose  one  of  us,  and  they  —  the  rest  —  will  go  ! 

Pen.   Ah  !  sirs,  remember  that  I  but  delay 
To  choose  till  I  have  woven  at  the  loom 
A  shroud  for  old  Laertes. 

Melan.  O  my  mistress  ! 

How  canst  thou  stand  and  lie  to  noble  men? 
O  Princes,  I  have  spied  on  her,  and  she 
At  night  unravels  what  she  wrought  by  day. 
Ye'U  wait  a  long  time  if  for  this  ye  wait. 
Pen.    Melantho  !  I  was  ever  kind  to  you. 


44  UL  YSSES 

Antin.    We  are  tricked  then  ! 

All.  We  are  duped  ! 

EuRYM.  O  she  is  subtle  ! 

Pen.  Princes,  you  drive  me  like  a  hunted  thing 
To  feint  and  double  thus. 

Ctes.  a  game  they  play  ! 

The  mother  fools  us  and  the  son  reviles  us. 
She  thinks  us  asses,  and  he  calls  us  rats. 
Am  I  then  Hke  a  vulture  or  a  rat? 

Telem.    Mother,    'tis  true  I   did   upbraid  them 
all; 
I  am  called  master  here,  but  am  no  master; 
Lord,  but  I  rule  not !    smiled  at  and  passed  by, 
A  shadow  while  these  men  usurp  my  halls. 

EuRVM.    \_Goifig    to    Telemachus,    and    laying 
hand  on  his   shoulder.']     Lady,    indeed  your 
son  hath  much  excuse, 
And  for  his  sake  I'd  urge  you  to  make  answer, 


UL  YSSES  45 

For  his  sake  and  the  sake  of  this  dear  land, 
Which     hes     now     with     defenceless     coast,    a 

rabble 
Leaderless,  laws  and  altars  overturned. 
Let  then  your  son  rise  in  his  father's  room. 
Ctes.    Let  the   boy   take   the  reins  and  drive : 
but  thou 
Depart  with  one  of  us ;  and  better  sure 
A  live  Ctesippus  than  a  dead  Ulysses. 

EuRVM.    \_Poifiti>ig  to  Telemachus.]     Thy  duty 

points  thee  to  thy  son  that  lives  ! 
Pen.    Is  it  so,  child,  this  brooding  on  a  dream 
Hath  kept  thee  from  thy  kingdom?     I  am  wrapt 
So  in  my  husband  I  forget  my  son. 

Telem.    Mother,   although    my   ofifice    here    is 
hard, 
Yet  would  I  rather  lie  out  by  the  door, 
Cursed,  spat  on,  offal  thrown  to  me  for  food, 


46  VL  YSSES 

Than  any  grief  of  mine  sliould  hasten  you 
To  answer  with  your  Ups  but  not  your  heart, 
Or  be  the  cause  of  your  departing  hence. 

Pen.   And    yet   I   see   'tis   so,  and    that    deal 
ghost 
Excludes  the  Hving  child  :  forgive  me,  son. 
[^To  the  Suitors.]    Yet,  sirs,  I  cannot  on  the  in- 
stant choose : 
I  lose  your  faces  in  the  thought  of  him. 
Not  on  the  instant  —  give  me  a  brief  space ! 
Then  will  I  choose  as  husband  one  of  you. 
Ctes.   Though  she  looked   straight  before   her 
didst  thou  see 
How  her  eye  wandered  toward  me? 

EuRYM.  She  looked  not 

On  me :  that  argues  in  a  woman  love. 
Antin.   See,  the  young  moon  hath  not  begun 
to  quicken. 


UL  YSSES  47 

And  on  the  evening  hangs  awaiting  Hfe. 
We'll  give  thee  time  till  yonder  moon  is  full : 
Then    shalt    thou    choose    from    us.     Till   then ! 
No  more. 
Pen.    I  will  do  so. 

Telem.  Mother,  think  not  that  I  — 

Pen.    My  child,  I  have  no  blame  for  you  at  all. 
EuRYM.  \_To  Suitors.]    Thy  answer,  then,  when 

that  faint  moon  is  full ! 
Antin.   I  challenge  any  here  to  hurl  the  quoit : 
To  the  market-place. 

EuRYM.  Haste,  then,  ere  it  grow  dark. 

[Telemachus  again  comes  forward  to 
Penelope. 
Pen.   Go   with   them,   child  !     Nay,   thou   hast 

done  no  wrong. 
\^Exeunt  all  but  Penelope,  who  stands  stretching 
out  her  arms  in  the  darkening  twilight. 


48  UL  YSSES 

Where  art  thou,  husband  ?    Dost  thou  lie  even  now 
Helpless  with  coral,  and  swaying  as  the  sea  sways? 
Or  dost  thou  live,  and  art  with  magic  held 
By  some  strange  woman  on  a  lone  sea  isle? 
Yet  we  are  bound  more  close  than  by  a  charm; 
By  fireside  plans  and  counsel  in  the  dawn  — 
Like    gardeners    have    we    watched    a    growing 

child. 
Thy  son  is  tall,  thou  wilt  be  glad  of  him ; 
All  is  in  order;  by  the  fire  thy  chair, 
Thy  bed  is  smoothed,  but  now  these  hands  have 

left  it. 
Thou  knowest  the  long  years  I  have  not  quailed. 
True  to  a  vision,  steadfast  to  a  dream, 
Indissolubly  married  to  remembrance ; 
But  now  I  am  so  driven  I  faint  at  last ! 
Why  must  my  beauty  madden  all  these  wolves? 
Why  have  the  gods  thus  guarded  my  first  bloom? 


UL  YSSES  49 

WTiy  am  I  fresh,  why  young,  if  not  for  thee? 
Come  !  come,  Ulysses  !     Burn  back   through   the 

world  ! 
Come,  take  the  broad  seas  in  one  mighty  leap, 
And  rush  upon  this  bosom  with  a  cr\', 
Ere  'tis  too  late,  at  the  last,  last  instant  —  come  ! 

{Again   the  Messtrel's  song  is  heard  as  the 
scene  changes. 

Scene  II 
The  shore  of  Ogygia  with  the  sea-cave  of  Calypso. 
A  vine  full  of  fruit  trails  over  one  side  of  the 
cave,  and  round  about  it  grow  whispering 
poplars  and  alders,  from  under  which  rillets  of 
water  run  to  the  sea.  Beyond,  a  verdant  shore, 
with  thickets  of  oleander,  etc.,  and  the  ship 
of  Ulysses  lying  beached.  Within  the  cave 
a   fire    burning  gives    out   the   smell  of   sawn 

D 


50  UL  YSSES 

cfdar  and  sandal-wood.  The  sun  behind  is 
sinking,  and  the  loatt-r  is  golden,  while  over 
all  broods  a  magic  light.  A  chorus  of  Ocean- 
Nymphs  is  discovered  dancing  and  singing  on 
the  sands. 

Enter  along  the  shore  Ulysses   and  Calypso. 

Cal.    Art  thou  content  then,  utterly  content  ? 

Ulys.    I'll    drift  no  more  upon  the  dreary  sea. 
No  yearning  have  I  now,  and  no  desire. 
Here  would  I  be,  at  ease  upon  this  isle 
Set  in  the  glassy  ocean's  azure  swoon, 
With  sward  of  parsley  and  of  violet, 
And  poplars  shivering  in  a  silvery  dream, 
And  smell  of  cedar  sawn,  and  sandal-wood. 
And  these  low-crying  birds  that  haunt  the  deep. 

Cal.   Thy  home,  then  ?     Hast   no    thought  of 
it  at  all  ? 


ULYSSES  51 

Ulys.    It  seemeth  to  me  like  a  far,  faint  place. 
Cal.    Rememberest  thou  thy  wife  ? 
Ulys.    \^Dreamily,'\  As  through  a  mist : 

And  dim  she  seems,  and  muffled,  and  away. 
Those  crimson  lips  again  !     O  eyes  half-closed, 
That  closing  slowly  draw  my  soul  from  me  ! 
Thou  fallest  back,  thy  hair  blows  in  my  face, 
And  all  the  odour  goeth  to  my  brain. 

Cal.    Come  !      I  would   have   thee  sleep  upon 
this  bank 
Till  the  first  star  shall  light  us  to  our  couch 
Of  o'erblown  roses  and  of  fallen  leaves. 

\_She  leads  Ulysses    out   and  he  lies  upon  a 

bank. 

Thy  purple  cloak,  wilt  have  it  so,  or  so? 

Now  sleep,  my  love  :  thou  canst  not  go  from  me. 

\She  returns  and  passes  within  the  cave. 

\_Calling  the  Nymphs  about  her: 


52  UL  YSSES 

The  golden  shuttle  and  the  violet  wool : 
And  all  ye  nymphs  sing  to  me  while  I  spin. 
Nymphs.    \Singing.'\     From  the  green  heart  of 
the  waters 

We,  old  ocean's  daughters, 
Have  floated  up  with  mortal  men  to  play ; 
Out  of  the  green  translucent  night 
Up  to  the  purple  earthly  light, 
To  dance  with  creatures  of  a  day. 

For  alas  !  we  have  seen  the  sailor  asleep 
Where   the   anchor   rusts   on   the   ooze   of 
the  deep. 
But  never,  never  before 
Have  we  seen  a  mortal  dance  on  the  long  seashore. 
Herm.    \_Appearing,  unseen  by  Calypso  and  her 
nymphs,  and  standing  over  Ulysses  where  he 
lies  asleep^    Ulysses,  thralled   by  passion  this 
long  while. 


ULYSSES  53 

I  lift  from  thee  the  glamour  of  this  isle. 
Olympian  wisdom  bids  thee  waken  free 
Of  white  Calypso's  glimmering  witchery. 
Behold,  I  raise  from  thee  the  magic  woe : 

\_Touching  him  with  caduceus. 
Now  lies  it  in  thyself  to  stay  or  go. 

[Hermes  stands  aside  and  watches  Ulysses, 
whoy   slowly    awakening,   begins    to   gaze 
and     stretch     out    his     anns      over    the 
sea. 
NvNiPHS.     [  Watching  Ulysses  from  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  and  singing.'] 
See,  see  Ulysses,  weary  and  wise. 
Sing  low,  sing  low  with  downcast  eyes; 
For  he  rouses  at  last. 
And  his  eyes  are  cast 
To  the  land  where  his  spirit  would  be, 
Over  the  violet  sea. 


54  UL  YSSES 

Alas  for  the  arms  that  yearn ! 
Alas  for  the  eyes  that  burn  ! 
Ulysses  —  Ulysses  —  ah  ! 

\They  all  start  up  as  Hermes  steps  sud- 
denly amongst  them. 
Cal.   Hermes,  I  know  thee,  though  too  rarely 
seen ; 
What  is  your  will  with  me  ?     Art  thou  from  Zeus  ? 
Some    word    of    Zeus    thou    bringest;     let    me 
hear. 
Herm.   Lady,  who  sitteth  there  upon  the  shore  ? 
Cal.    It  is  Ulysses.     Ah,  'tis  not  of  him? 
Herm.   There  sits  the   man   of  whom   I   came 

to  speak. 
Cal.   Say  then ! 

Herm.  Thus    Zeus   commands :  that 

you  set  free 
Ulysses. 


ULYSSES  55 

Cal.  Ah ! 

Herm.  And  waft  him  on  the  deep, 

If  in  his  heart  he  hungers  for  his  home. 

Cal.    He  is  most  happy  and  forgets  his  home. 

Herm.   Yet    if    he     shall    desire    at    last    his 
hearth  — 

Cal.   He  will  not  —  no  !  — 

Herm.  Then  shalt  thou  waft  his  sails. 

Cal.    He  shall  not  go  ! 

Herm.  But  Zeus  commands. 

Cal.  I  say 

He  will  not  care  to  go,  doth  not  desire ; 
To  leave  me  hath  not  entered  in  his  heart. 
Yet  will  I  set  him  free  if  he  so  choose ; 
But  I  am  sure  of  him. 

Herm.  And  he  shall  have 

More  peril  being  gone,  down  into  hell 
Must   pass,  and  view  the  hollow  night  of  things. 


56  UL  YSSES 

Cal.   This  will  I  tell  him. 
Herm.  No  !  for  Zeus  forbids. 

Farewell,  Calypso  —  linger  I  may  not. 

\_Exit  Hermes. 
Cal.    I  cannot  doubt   thee,  and  the  spell  was 
strong. 

\_She  goes  to  the  door  of  the  cave  and  calls 

Ulysses  three  times.     At  last  he   hears 

and  rises,    then    comes    slowly   down    to 

her  rubbing  his  eyes  like  one  awakening 

from  a  trance. 

Cal.    Art  thou  Ulysses  that  so  slowly  comest? 

Who  hath  bewitched  thee  that  thou  gazest  past  me? 

And  thou  wert  wont  to  rush  into  my  arms  ! 

\She    leads   him   within    the   cave  —  Ulysses 
still  seeming  numbed  and  changed. 
Ulysses,  there  hath  been  a  god  with  me, 
A  messenger  from  Zeus.    Come  from  the  shadow, 


UL  YSSES  57 

That  I  may  see  your  face.    Thus  Zeus  commands  : 
*  If  sad  Ulysses  yearns  to  see  his  home  — ' 

S^He  starts  and  gazes  again  seaward. 
Ah  !   you  would  go  then  !    back  the  bright  blood 

comes, 
And  to  your  eyes  the  sea-light ! 
Ulys.  Goddess  —  I  — 

Cal.    '  If  sad  Ulysses  burns  to  see  his   home,' 
Then  Zeus  commands  me  that  I  let  you  go. 
Ah  !  set  your  teeth  upon  your  hps  :  but  still 
I  hear  wild  music  at  your  heart. 

Ulys.    \_Beginning  to  recover  and  realise.'] 

O  whence 
Comes  this  release— or— this  command  of  Zeus? 
Cal.   O   spoil    it    not !    then   thus    comes    this 
release. 
The  gods  have  pity  on  you,  seeing  you 
Unwilhngly  beguiled  by  cold  Calypso. 


58  UL  YSSES 

And  more ;  I  am  to  swell  your  aching  sails, 
And  breathe  you  with  a  breeze  over  the  deep  : 
Only  if  you  desire  —  'tis  in  your  will. 
Well !  well !     Why  do  you  gaze  so  in  my  eyes  ? 

Ulys.    I   have   learned   to   dread  what   cometh 
suddenly. 
And  sniff  about  a  sweet  thing  Hke  a  hound : 
And  most  I  dread  the  sudden  gifts  of  gods. 

Cal.    Gifts! 

Ulvs.  I   would   say   commands  —  this 

is  some  lure. 
Swear  suddenly  'tis  not !      {Harshly  and  quickly. 

Cal.  Is  this  thy  voice? 

Put  me  upon  my  oath,  and  I'll  swear  false. 
I  tell  you  out  of  a  sad  heart  the  truth. 

Ulys.    \Still  hmtating.']     Who  bore   this   mes- 
sage down? 

Cal.  Hermes. 


ULYSSES  59 

Ulys.  a  most 

Garrulous  god  ! 

Cal.  He  came  from  Zeus  himself. 

Ulys.  And  Zeus  himself  I  trust  not  over-far. 
Hurler  of  bolts  !     I   speak  it  reverently. 

\_Seizing  her  arm. 
I  will  not  loose  you,  till  you  swear  by  Styx, 
River  of  hell,  the  dreaded  oath  of  gods. 

Cal.    I  swear  to  you  by  Styx,  river  of  hell ! 
Ulys.    {_Breaking  away.']    O  then  the  ship,  the 

ship  ! 

Cal.    \_Detaining  him.']  A  moment  yet ! 

Kiss  me,  dear  guest !     My  love  for  you  is  deep, 

But  ah  !  not  deep  enough  to  wish  you  home. 

Ulys.  The  gods  command  :  we  mortals  but  obey. 

Cal.   Why  will  you  leave  me?     I  must  let  you 

go, 
But  not  without  a  reason :  must  I  ?     Speak ! 


6o  UL  YSSES 

I  do  but  ask  the  why  of  what  must  be. 

'\_He  kisses  her  absently. 
Is  this  Ulysses'  kiss? 

Ulys.  Goddess,  this  news 

Makes  me  forgetful. 

Cal.  Worse  and  worse  ! 

Ulys.  Again 

\_Kisses  her. 
Cal.   This  out  of  gratitude?      And   when   you 
gaze 
Into  my  eyes  you  see  a  world  beyond. 

\^He  again  moves  to  go. 
Yet  stay  !     I  do  not  ask  for  the  old  look, 
Or  to  Ue  nearer  in  the  deep  of  night : 
That's  ended  like  a  song.     But  I  will  know 
Why  you  so  burn  to  sail;    why  suddenly 
I  touch  these  arms  of  stone,  this  hand  of  flint, 
Why  suddenly  your  eyes  peer  seaward,  why 


UL  YSSES  6l 

All  in  one  moment  you  are  mad  for  home. 
Is  it  your  wife  whom  you  at  last  remember? 
Penelope?  —  doth  she  not  drag  her  feet 
A  little  as  she  walks  ?  —  slow  —  but  how  chaste  ! 
If  I  could  see  her,  I  would  understand. 
Ulys.   I'd  not  compare  Penelope  with  thee. 
Cal.    I   have  shown   you    amorous   craft,  tricks 
of  delay, 
Tears  that  can  fire  men's  blood;    you  must   for- 
get 
These,  and  return  to  simple  husbanding. 
Hath  she  the  way  of  it?   all  the  sweet  wiles? 
The  love  that  shall  not  weary,  must  be  art. 
Ulys.   She  hath  no  skill  in  loving  —  but  to  love. 
Cal.   And  are  her  eyes  dark;    dark,  yet   with 
lightning  ? 
Never  a  blue  eye  held  a  man  like  thee. 
Ulys.    I  have  forgot  the  colour  of  her  eyes. 


62  UL  YSSES 

Cal.    Patient  and  fair  and  comfortable?  yes? 
Stands  she  as  I  do?     Is  her  head  so  poised? 
Ulys.  How  should  a  mortal  like  a  goddess  stand  ? 
Cal.    And  can  she  set  a  rose  in  bosom  or  hair? 
Ulys.   She  hath  a  wisdom  amid  garden  flowers. 
Cal.   Doth  she  sing  sweet? 
Ulys.  The  songs  of  my  own  land. 

Cal.    \SHddenly?^   She   hath    forgotten    thee,  so 

long  away. 
Ulys.    I  would  remind  her  with  what  speed    I 

can. 
Cal.    Remember,  she  is  mortal :   she  must  die. 
Ulys.   Therefore  I  flee  the  faster  to  her  side. 
Cal.    O   what   an   end !      You   two   will   sit   in 

the  sun. 
And  challenge  one  another  with  grey  hairs. 
Ulys.   And  so  to  spare  your  eyes  I  would   be 

gone 


UL  YSSES  63 

Ere  this  my  head  to  such  a  greyness  grow. 
Cal.    How  shall  my  heart  contend  against  your 

brain  ? 
Now  by  that  time  I  thought  eternity, 
By    long    sea-evenings    when     all    words    would 

cease, 
By  all  the  sad  tales  of  thy  wandering, 
Sad  tales  which  will  be  happy  to  remember, 
Tell  me  the  reason  of  this  haste  to  go, 
'Tis  she,  I  know ;    I  want  no  words  to  tell  me. 
But  is  it  she?     And  now  I  do  recall 
Even  in  your  wildest  kiss  a  kiss  withheld. 
Even  in  abandonment  a  something  kept ; 
When  veil  on  veil  fell  from  you,  still  a  veil. 
When    you    so    poured    your    soul    out    that    a 

woman, 
Even  a  woman,  had  in  her  heart  said  '  now  ! ' 
I  felt  in  all  that  sweet  a  something  stern. 


64  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.   Why  harp   upon   my   wife?    You   being 
woman 
Too  much  exalt  the  woman  :    a  thousand  calls 
Are  ringing  in  my  ears  :    my  mother  pined  — 
Cal.     When    did    a    lover    heed     a    mother's 

woe? 
Ulys,    My  father  desolate  or  dead  :  my  son  — 
Cal.  No  father  nor  no  son  could   launch   that 

ship. 
Ulys.  My  comrades,  then  ! 

[Ulysses'  comrades   meanwhile   are   wander- 
ing at  back. 

Whatever  my  inclining, 

They  still  have  homes  which  I  must  think  upon 

Who  took  them  far. 

Cal.  Friend  hath  killed  friend  for  love. 

Ulys.  My  empty  throne  and  my  neglected  land  : 

Duty  — 


UL  YSSES  65 

Cal.  O  !    hath  it  come  to  duty  now? 

Duty,  that  grey  ash  of  a  burnt-out  fire, 
That  lies  between  a  woman  and  a  man  ! 
We  fence  and  fence  about :    tell  me  the  truth. 
Why  are  you  mad  for  home?    I'll  have  the  truth, 
Once  and  once  only,  but  the  living  truth. 

Ulys.  [/«  a  wild  burst.']  Then  have  the  truth ; 
I  speak  as  a  man  speaks ; 
Pour  out  my  heart  like  treasure  at  your  feet. 
This  odorous  amorous  isle  of  violets, 
That  leans  all  leaves  into  the  glassy  deep, 
With  brooding  music  over  noontide  moss. 
And  low  dirge  of  the  lily-swinging  bee, — 
Then  stars  like  opening  eyes  on  closing  flowers,  — 
Palls  on  my  heart.     Ah,  God  !    that   I   might  see 
Gaunt  Ithaca  stand  up  out  of  the  surge. 
You   lashed    and    streaming    rocks,   and    sobbing 
crags, 

E 


06  UL  YSSES 

The  screaming  gull  and  the  wild-flying  cloud :  — 
To  see  far  off  the  smoke  of  my  own  hearth, 
To  smell  far  out  the  glebe  of  my  own  farms, 
To  spring  alive  upon  her  precipices, 
And  hurl  the  singing  spear  into  the  air; 
To  scoop  the  mountain  torrent  in  my  hand, 
And  plunge  into  the  midnight  of  her  pines; 
To  look  into  the  eyes  of  her  who  bore  me, 
And  clasp  his  knees  who  'gat  me  in  his  joy, 
Prove  if  my  son  be  like  my  dream  of  him. 
We   two   have   played   and    tossed    each   other 
words ; 
Goddess  and  mortal  we  have  met  and  kissed. 
Now  am  I  mad  for  silence  and  for  tears, 
For  the  earthly  voice   that   breaks  at  earthly  ills. 
The    mortal    hands    that   make    and    smooth  the 

bed. 
I  am  an-hungered  for  that  human  breast, 


ULYSSES  .     67 

That  bosom  a  sweet  hive  of  memories  — 
There,  there  to  lay  my  head  before  I  die, 
There,  there  to  be,  there  only,  there  at  last ! 

[Calypso  weeps.     Ulysses  comes  and  touches 
her  softly. 
Remember,  Goddess,  the  great  while  it  is, 
How  far,  far  back,  alas  how  long  ago  ! 

Cal.  \_Clingifig    about   him.~\      Now    wilt    thou 
leave  me,  now,  close  on  the  hour 
Of  silent  planets  luring  us  thro'  dew, 
And  steady  pouring  slumber  from  the  waves, 
Wave  after  wave  upon  the  puzzling  brain? 
Ulys.  My  wife,  my  wife  ! 
Cal.  And,  mortal,  I  will  breathe 

Delicious  immortality  on  thee. 
Stay  with  me,  and  thou  shall  not  taste  of  death. 
Ulys.  I  would   not   take   life  but  on  terms  of 
death. 


68  UL  YSSES 

That  sting  in  the  wine  of  being,  salt  of  its  feast. 
To  me  what  rapture  in  the  ocean  path 
Save  in  the  white  leap  and  the  dance  of  doom? 
O  death,  thou  hast  a  beckon  to  the  brave, 
Thou  last  sea  of  the  navigator,  last 
Plunge  of  the  diver,  and  last  hunter's  leap. 
Cal.    Yet,    yet,  Ulysses,    know    that    thou    art 
going 
Into  a  peril  not  of  sky  nor  sea, 
But  to  a  danger  strange  and  unimagined. 

Ulys.  I'd  go  down  into  hell,  if  hell  led  home  ! 
Cal.   {^Resignedl}\\     Call    up    your    comrades ! 

Bid  them  hoist  the  sails  ! 
Ulys.  Comrades  !  {^He  lifts  his  arms  and 
cries  to  his  followers,  who  co7ne  rtaining  to 
him,  leaving  the  Nymphs  on  the  shore.'] 
Great  hearts,  that  with  me  have  so  long 
Breasted  the  wave  and  broken  through  the  snare, 


UL  YSSES  69 

Have  we  not  eaten  and  drunk  on  magic  shores? 
Your  hands  here  ! 

\They  crowd  round  him  eagerly,  some  clasp- 
ing, others  kissing  his  hands. 
Comrades.  O  great  captain  ! 

Ulys.  Have  we  not 

Heard  all  the  Sirens  singing  and  run  free? 
Com.    Lead  !   lead  ! 

Ulys.   Close,  close  to  me  !    have  we  not  burst 
Up  from  the  white  whirl  of  Charybdis'  pool? 
Com.   Storm-weatherer  !   mighty  sailor  ! 

\_They  clasp  his  knees. 
Ulys.  What  say  you? 

Shall  we  put  forth  again  upon  the  deep? 
Co^L   We  will  go  with  thee  even  into  hell ! 

\_They  raise  a  great  shout. 
Ulys.  Then  Zeus  decrees  that  we  again  set  forth 
And  break  at  last  the  magic  of  this  isle. 


JO  ULYSSES 

Com.   Yet  whither  —  whither? 
Ulys.  Would  ye  see  at  last 

Gaunt  Ithaca? 
Com.  Ah,  God! 

Ulys.  Would  ye  behold 

The    bright    fires    blaze    and    crackle    on    your 
hearths  ? 
Com.  Torment  us  not ! 

Ulys.  Would  you  again  catch  up 

Your  babes? 

Com.  Have  pity ! 

Ulys.  And  clasp  again  your 

wives  ? 
Com.   Cease  !   cease  ! 
Ulys.  Then  homeward  will  we 

sail  to-night. 
Com.    \_With  amazed  cries.']    Home?    Home? 
\_A  wail  of  Nymphs  is  heard  on  sands. 


ULYSSES  71 

Ulys.  Now  lay  the  rollers  under  her, 

And  you  make  taut  the  ropes,  you,  hoist  the  sails, 
And  run  her  down  with  glee  into  the  deep  ! 
Com.   \_Rushing  off  in  various  directions.']    The 
ship  !    the  ship  !     Ithaca  !     Praise  the  gods  ! 
Cal.    \_Coming  out  with  cup.]    The  cup,  Ulys- 
ses !     Drink  to  me  farewell ! 
Ulys.    {Taking    cup.]    First    unto    Zeus    that 
would  not  have  us  die. 
But  suffered  us  to  see  our  homes  again. 
Farewell,  Calypso,  the  red  sun  half  way 
Is  sunk  and  makes  a  firelight  o'er  the  deep. 

Cal.   Remember  me  a  httle  when  thou  comest 
To  thine  own  country.     Say  farewell  to  me, 
Not  to  the  thought  of  me  ! 

Ulys.  I  will  not.     See  ! 

The    ship    moves !       Hark,    their   shouts !       She 
moves  !   she  moves. 


72  UL  YSSES 

Hear  you  the  glorying  shingle  cry  beneath  her? 
She  spreads  her  wings  to  fly  upon  the  deep  ! 

\The  cries  of  Ulysses'  crew  are  heard  as  the 
ship  is  shoved  down  and  they  climb  in. 
Ulysses    springs  in  and  stands    in   the 
stern. 
Men.   We  float !   we  float ! 
Ulys.  Now  each  man  to  the  oar 

And,  leaning  all  together,  smite  the  sea  ! 
For  it  is  fated  we  shall  see  our  homes  ! 

[  The  ship  puts  off,  and  the   wind  raised  by 
Calypso  fills  the  sails. 
Cal.   I  breathe  a  breeze  to  waft  thee  over  sea  ! 
Ah,  could  I  waft  thee  back  again  to  me  ! 

\_The  ship  gradually  disappears,  the  Joyous 
chorus  of  Ulysses'  boatmen  dying  off  as 
the  wailing  of  the  Nymphs  becomes 
louder.     A  cloud  gathers  over  the  scene. 


UL  YSSES  73 

\The  curtain  descends,  but  rising  again  dis- 
covers the  ship,  now  a  black  speck  on 
red  sunset,  and  Calypso  standing  alone 
looking  after  it  across  the  sea. 

[  Wailing  of  Sea-Nymphs. 


CURTAIN 


ACT    II 


ACT   II 

Scene  I 

A  gloomy  barren  shore,  loith  black  broken  cliffs 
and  a  fetv  cowering  trees :  at  the  back  the 
entrance  to  a  vast  cave.  Enter  Ulysses 
slowly,  armed  and  carrying  a  hunting  spear; 
he  gazes    about  him. 

Ulys.     a   dark    land   and   a    barren !      Hither 
urged 

By  strange  and  cold  compulsion  of  the  sea, 

What  hope  for  us  of  shelter  or  of  food? 

A  grassless,  fruitless,  unsustaining  shore  ! 

I  have  outpaced  my  comrades.    [  Calls'^  Phocion  ! 

Elpenor  !     The  gods  lied  to  me  who  swore 

That  we  should  see  our  homes  again.      Yet  now, 
77 


78  UL  YSSES 

What  breathed  sweetness   as  of  blended  flowers? 
Nearer  and  nearer  still ! 

Enter  Athene. 

Athene  !  Thou  I 

Preceded  by  the  fragrance  of  thy  soul. 

Ath.    Ulysses,  know'st  thou  to  what  land  thou 

art  come? 

Ulys.    I  know  not,  but  I   know   the   gods   did 

lie 

Who  swore  that  I  should  see  at  last  my  home. 

Ath.     The  gods   lied   not,    for   thou   shalt   see 

thy  home. 

Ulys.    ^^Eagerly.'l    Ah ! 

Ath.  If  thou  hast  but  courage  to  descend 

Thither ;  to  gather  tidings  of  thy  land 

There,   in    the    dark    world,    and    win    back    thy 

way. 

Ulys.   What  world? 


UL  YSSES  79 

Ath,  Doth  not  the  region  even  now 

Strike    to    thy    heart?      These    warning    cypress 

trees, 
This  conscious  umbrage  cowering  to  the  ground, 
The  creeping  up  of  the  slow  fearful  foam ; 
Rocks  rooted  in  th^  terror  of  some  cry 
That  rang  in  the  beginning  of  the  world : 
All  nature  frighted  into  barrenness. 
Lo,  mortal,  here  the  very  gate  of  death. 
And  this  no  other  than  the  door  of  hell ! 

[Ulysses  falls  on  his  face. 
Swoonest  thou  down,  Ulysses?  Wouldst  thou  see 
Thy  home? 

Ulys.  My  home,  alas  ! 

Ath.  Thither  !     Wouldst  thou 

Catch  to  thy  breast  thy  wife? 

Ulys.  My  wife,  my  wife  ! 

Ath.   Thither! 


8o  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.    \_Rising    wi/dfy.']     Who    should    endure 

this?     Back  to  the  sea! 

Back  to  the  wild  sea  !     Farewell,  Ithaca  ! 

To  the  wild  winds  !     Penelope,  farewell ! 

\_Makes  to  go, 
Ath.  Ulysses! 

\_He  stops. 

Hast  thou  that  in  thee  which  1 

Have  vaunted  of  thee  'mid  the  mighty  gods, 

And  have  stood  surety  for  thee  in  high  heaven? 

Ulys.    Hast  thou  no  pity? 

Ath.  More  than  ever  a  woman ; 

But  as  my  pity,  so  my  pride  in  thee. 

Ulys.     Why  unto  me,  to  me  alone,  is  heaven 
For  ever  cruel?     Have  I  not  borne  enough, 
Cyclops  and  Sirens  and  Charybdis'  whirl, 
Ogre  and  witch  and  dreadful  swoop  of  winds, 
That     hell    now    stands    between    me    and     my 
home? 


UL  YSSES  8l 

Ath.   The    Power    that    is    behind    the    gods 
decrees 
To  make  a  fiery  trial  of  thy  spirit. 
Ulys.    Is  there  no  other  way? 
Ath.  Thither  alone, 

Led  by  cold   Hermes,  who  alone  of  gods 
May  pass  that  portal.     Now,  Ulysses,  learn 
What  first  must  be  encountered,  and  o'ercome. 
Right  in  the  threshold  Hunger  stands,  and  Hate, 
And  gliding  Murder  with  his  lighted  face. 
And  Madness  howling,  Fear,  and  neighing  Lust, 
And  Melancholy  with  her  moony  smile. 
And  Beauty  with  blood  dripping  from  her  lips. 
Then  shalt  thou  view  the  inmost  house  of  woe, 
And  all  the  faint  unhappy  host  of  hell. 
If  these  thou  canst  endure  and  pass,  thou  shalt 
Hear  tidings  of  thy  home  and  of  thy  wife. 
Emerge  and  come  at  last  to  thine  own  land. 


F 


82  ULYSSES 

Ulys.   The  gods  lay  on  me  more  than  I  can 
bear. 

Ath.   Thy  native  shore  ! 

Ulys,  The  darkness  and  the  dead ! 

Ath.   Thy  warm  fire-blaze  ! 

Ulys.  The  grave  and  all  the  grief! 

Ath.   Voice  of  thy  wife  ! 

\_Famt  wailings  from  the  abyss. 

Ulys.  That  crying  from  the  deep  ! 

Ath.    Dare,  dare  it ! 

Ulys.  Is  it  sworn  I  shall  return 

Upward  and  homeward? 

Ath.  In  thy  will  it  lies. 

Thou,  thou  alone  canst  issue  out  of  hell. 

Ulys.   Then?    Then? 

Ath.  Thou  shalt  return.     Zeus 

give  thy  voice. 

\Thunder. 
Ulys.   I  go ! 


ULYSSES  83 

Ath.  Now  thou  art  mine  ! 

\_She  vanishes. 

Comrades.    \_Beard  off.']        Ulysses!    Where? 

Enter  Comrades. 

Elpenor.   We  have  found  thee,  captain  ! 
Another.  Does  this  land  give  aught 

That  we  can  eat? 

Another.  Or  drink? 

Another.  O  good  roast  flesh  ! 

Another.    Even  bread  were  something. 
Another.  Great  Ulysses,  speak  ! 

[Ulysses  remains  with  fixed  gaze  on  the  en- 
trance of  the  cave. 
Another.   What  hast  thou  speared  for  supper, 
hunter  fleet? 

[Ulysses  slowly  turns  and  looks  on   them. 


84  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.    Listen  ! 

\_A  sound  of  cries,  at  first  faint,  rises.     They 
all   come    round   him  fearfully.      Three 
times  the  cries  arise,  each  time  louder. 
Phocion.    Who  are  they  that  cry  up  from  the 

earth  ? 
Ulys.   The  dead  ! 
Com.  The  dead  ! 

Phoc.  And  this?     What 

is  the  place? 
Ulys.    We   now  are    standing  at   the    door   of 
hell! 

[They  shudder  away  from    him    in  silence, 
all  but  Phocion. 
Phoc.    Come  !  come  away  ! 
Ulys.  No  !  for  I  must 

descend. 
Thus  only  can  we  reach  our  homes  again. 


ULYSSES  85 

Phoc.    In    every  peril  have  I  been  with  thee  : 
Let  me  be  with  thee  here  ! 

Ulys.    \_Tender/y.']     My  Phocion  ! 
Elp.    I    am   an   old,    old   man !    am   long   for- 
gotten 
Even  by  my  dearest.     Let  me  go  with  thee  ! 
Ulys.    It  may  not  be :    leave   me,  and   say  no 
word  ! 

\_They  gradually  disappear. 
[Ulysses  advances  and  peers  into  the  dark. 
A  long  solitary  cry  causes  him  to  reel 
back,  and  he  seems  to  hesitate,  when 
again  Athene  stands  opposite  him 
S7niling.  After  a  mute  appeal  to  her 
for  help,  she  vanishes.  He  again  ad- 
va?ices,  but  recoils  as  from  some  terri- 
ble sight. 
Heilm.    [  WithinP^    Ulysses  ! 


86  UL  YSSES 

Com.    \^From  a  distance^   Ulysses  ! 

[Ulysses   after  a   momenfs  pause  gradually 
and  fearfully  descends. 

Scene  II 
The  descent  into  Hades.  As  the  stage  is  dark- 
ened waitings  are  heard  and  a  sound  of 
moaning  wind  which  ceases  as  Scene  IL  dis- 
closes a  world  of  darkness  with  all  tlmigs  im- 
palpable, save  for  a  precipitous  descent  dimly 
seen,  and  at  its  foot  a  livid  river  flowing,  a 
black  barge  floating  on  it.  There  is  a  continual 
movement  as  of  wings  and  flying  things.  A 
sudden  flash  of  Ulysses'  armour  discovers  him 
beginning  to  descend  warily  with  Hermes  in 
silence. 

Ulys.    Darkness  ! 
Herm.  Descend ! 


UL  YSSES  87 

Ulys.  Thy  hand  !     I  fear  to  fall. 

Herm.  Thou,  thou  alone  canst  downward 
tread. 

Ulys.  But  this! 

Is  it  ocean,  land,  or  air?  I  grope  down,  down  ! 
\Pausesr\^    A  whist  world  !  but  for  whirring  as  of 

wings. 

\JJe  looks  dowji  intently. 
Is    that    a    forest    yonder,    that    sways   and   sighs 
With  a  vast  whisper?  yet  no  trees  I  see. 
And  there,  what  seems  an  ocean  :    yet  no  wave  ! 
The  wonder  of  it  takes  away  the  fear. 

{They  descend  further.     Ulysses  pauses  as  a 
faint  cry  is  heard. 
Listen  ! 

\_Again    the  cry  comes,  nearer.     Again,  and 
nearer. 
What  cry,  so  feeble  and  so  frail? 


88  UL  YSSES 

Herm.     It    is    the   cry    of   children    that    died 
young. 
The  glitter  of  thy  armour  lures  them  toward  thee. 
\The  Spirits  of  Children  flit  about  him  unth 
wistful  cries. 
Ulys.    Little    bewildered    ghosts    in    this   great 
night ! 
They  flock  about  me  — 

Herm.  Wandering  on  their  way 

To  banks  of  asphodel  and  spirit  flowers. 

Ulys.   Ah,   a   girl's   face  !      A   boy   there   with 
bright  hair  ! 
He  is  new  come  and  is  not  listless  yet. 
And  thou  dost  make  a  little  prattling  noise 
And  hast  not  learned  to  speak  ! 

A  Child.  O  the  bright  armour  ! 

Another.   O  father,  bring   us    to  the  place  of 
flowers  ! 


UL  YSSES  89 

Another.   We   have   lost   our   way  !      Show   us 
the  grassy  fields  ! 

[Ulysses  makes  appealing  gesture  to  Hermes, 
who  stands  silent. 
Ulys.   I   cannot   bring   you,  children,  to  those 
flowers. 

\_The  Children  fiit  away  with  wistful  cries. 
Ulysses  starts  forward. 
And  'tis  not  from  the  prattle  of  dead  babes 
I  shall  have  tidings  of  my  home,  my  wife. 
Down  and  yet  down  ! 

\_Again  they  descend. 
[Shapes  of  Furies  appear  circling  in  the  air. 
Hermes,  I  am  pursued. 
But    O    by    whom?      As    sharks     to     him     that 

drowns, 
They     make     toward     me,     sidelong     swimming 
shapes ! 


90  UL  YSSES 

I'll  draw  my  sword. 

\He   draws   his    sword   and    thrusts    vainly 
at  the  Shapes. 
Herm.  What  use  to  strike  at  phantoms? 

The  Furies  these,  who  hurrying  to  the  earth 
To  scourge  the  wicked,  scent  thee  in  mid-flight. 
Ulys.   [/«   terror?^    Over    and    over    me !    and 
round  and  round  ! 
They'll  search  the  guilt  out  in  my  secret  soul. 
Their  eyes   go  through  my  body  to  my  heart ! 
I  am  but  a  man  !     I  am  all  black  within  ! 
They    leave    me,    they    hft    their    faces    to    the 

wind  ! 
Upward  they  rush  ! 

Herm.  A  sudden   scent  from  earth  ! 

\They  again  descend. 
Ulys.  More  and  more  difficult  —  yet  down  and 
down  ! 


UL  YSSES  9» 

And  now  I  seem  to  wade,  and  now  to  part 
Entangled  branches,  now  pass  through  a  cloud. 
{^He  pauses.']     Hermes,  a   sighing   near   my  feet, 

as  of  reeds. 
And  now  about  me  phantoms,  men   and  women. 
[Phantoms  of  Suicides  rise  about  him. 
One    hath    a    scarred    throat,    and    that   woman 

holds 
Poison  as  in  a  phial  —  what  are  ye? 

First   Phan.    \_To   Ulysses.]    Thou,   thou   hast 
life  in  thee,  and  flesh  and  blood. 
See,  see  the  man  is  in  the  body  yet. 
Ulys.  What  are  ye? 

Second  Phan.   Spirits  of  those  who   cast  away 

Sweet  Ufe  and  slew  ourselves  with  violent  hands. 

\_The  Phantoms  circle  about  him. 

First  Phan.  In  madness  I  ! 

Second  Phan.  And  I  in  jealousy  ! 


92  ULYSSES 

Phan.  of  Ph^dra.    Me !    Me !    Knowest  thou 
not  me?     Phsedra  was  I, 
The  queen  that  burned  for  cold   Hippolytus, 
Who  scorned   me  till  I  knotted  here  the  noose. 
Ulys.  And  art  thou  Phaedra? 
Ph.«dr.  Give  me  back  the  sun 

And  all  the  scorn  again  !     Only  the  sun  ! 

First   Phan.    Seest    thou    that   glimmer?   there 

still  gleams  the  world  ! 
Phantoms.    [  Together. '\     Back  :    take  us  back  ! 

How  soon  these  wounds  would  heal ! 
Ulys.   O    ye    that    being    dead,    so    love    the 
light ! 
Yet     is     there     not    some    dear    and    favourite 

field, 
Some  holiest  earth  where  each  of  ye  would  be? 
Phantoms.   [  Wheeling  round.']     Ah,  ah  ! 
Ulys.  Doth  one  of  you  perchance  remember 


UL  YSSES  93 

A  windy  land  that  stands  out  of  the  sea 
Gull-haunted,  and  men  call  it  Ithaca? 

{The  Phantoms  float  away  with   sad  cries. 
A  pause. 
No  !   not  from  babes  nor  these  who  slew  them- 
selves 
Wring  I  one  word  of  that  which  I  would  know. 
Ah  !  bring  me  to  that  ghost  that  shall  reveal ! 

\_Again   they  descend,  but  Ulysses  pauses. 
Herm.  Why  tarry  we,  Ulysses? 
Ulys.  Hermes,  this  world 

Begins  to  grip  my  heart  with  gradual  cold  ! 
0  how  shall  I  descend  in  flesh  and  blood 
Unready  and  unripe  ?     I  have  not  died  : 
Therefore  I  fear  !     You  gods,  first  let  me  have 
The  pang,  the  last  sweat  and  the   rattling  throat, 
The  apparelling  and  the  deep  burying, 
\nd  die  ere  I  descend  amid  the  dead. 


94  UL  YSSES 

Herm.  'Tis  in  thy  will.     Remember  Ithaca. 
Ulys.  [  With   effort.']  Down,  down  !     Yet  terror 
hath  ta'en  hold  on  me. 
\_The    burning  forms    of    Lovers    suddenly 
surround  him. 
O  what  are  ye?    What  fire  consumes  you  still? 
First  Phan.  We  are  the  spirits  of  lovers   who 

still  love. 
Ulys.  Did  not  the  cold  grave  all  that  burning 

quench  ? 
Second  Phan.  No  !  for  that  fire   did   eat  into 

our  souls. 
Phan.   of   Eurydice.   Look  upon   me !     I   am 
Eurydice 
That  for  one  moment  was  so  near  the  day, 
When  Orpheus  backward  looked,  and  all  was  night. 
O  lay  me  on  his  heart  again  ! 

[_The  Phantoms  wheel  about  him. 


UL  YSSES  95 

Phan.  of  Protesilaus.  Ah !  come, 

Laodamia  ! 

Phan.  of  Phyllis.    \Woman!\    O  Demophoon  ! 

Another.    O  fire  that  dies  not  with  our  death  ! 

Another.  Alas ! 

Ulys.    Do  I  not  burn  for  a  breast  unreachable, 
And  languish  for  one  voice  I  may  not  hear? 
For  her  that  weepeth  by  the  rolhng  sea, 
Penelope ! 

[Phantoms  disappear  with  wailings. 
No  answer  still,  no  word  ! 
That  oath  was  hollow  as  this  hollow  world 
Which  said  I  should  hear  tidings  of  my  home. 
Where  is  that  spirit  that  shall  tell  me? 

Herm.  Lo  ! 

The  foot  of  the  descent ! 

Ulys.  Have  I  then  come 

Thro'  hell  at  last :  now  surely  —  now  to  hear. 


96  UL  YSSES 

Herm.    No,  for   the   river  waits   thee   and   the 

barge. 
Ulys.    What  river? 

Herm.   See  !  the  creeping  Stygian  stream, 
The  mournful  barge  in  which  thou  must  embark 
And  drift  thro'  more  tremendous  torments,  ere 
Thou  shall  have  tidings  of  thy  home  and  wife. 
Ulys.   [JViMy.']    Is't   not  enough  to   have   de- 
scended hither 
Breathing  and  in  the  flesh?     Now  must  I  drift 
Upon  the  dreadful  river?     Spare  me,  Zeus  ! 
Athene,  who  didst  never  leave  me  yet, 
Athene!  hearken!  —  even  she  forsakes  me. 
O  Hermes  ! 

Herm.  None  can  aid  thee  but  thy  will, 

Ulys.   [  IVif/i  a  cry.']  On,  Hermes,  on,  even  to 
the  river  of  hell ! 
[^TTiey  approach  the  river,  and  Hermes  enters 


UL  YSSES  97 

the  barge,  but  as   Ulysses  is   embarking 
Charon  starts  fonvard  oar  in  hand. 
Charon.   Stay    thou !      The    flesh    still    chngs 
about  thy  limbs, 
The   blood   runs    in   thy  veins  !      Rash    fool,  for- 
bear !  - 
Here  is  no  passage  save  for  spirits  !     Back  ! 
Back  to  the  earth  or  fear  some  monstrous  doom. 
S^He  thrusts  Ulysses  aside. 
Herm.    Charon  !  by  heaven's  permission  comes 
this  man. 
Take    thou     thy    oar     and    urge    us    down    the 
stream. 

\_They  begin  to  drift,  and  now  they  pass  the 
woe  of  Tantalus  and  the  fruit. 
Lo  !  Tantalus  in  his  eternal  thirst 
Still  reaching  at  the  fruit  he  may  not  grasp. 
See  how  the  wind  carries  the  branches  from  him. 


98  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.   Ah  !  Tantalus,  do  I  not  reach  and  grasp 
not? 

\_They  pass  the  woe  of  Tantalus   and  drift 
onward,    when    suddenly    on    the    bank 
Teiresias  the  Seer  starts  forward. 
Teir.   Ulysses,  art   thou   come,   then?      Is  no 
toil 
Too   hard   for   thee    that    thou   must    drift   thro' 
hell? 
Ulys.  Teiresias,  prophet  true  !  of  all  men  thee, 
Thee  do  I  thirst  to  hear,  now  shall  I  know. 
Shall  I  return  unto  my  home  at  last? 
Teir.   Thou  shalt  return. 
Ulys.  O  Zeus! 

Teir.  Yet  with  sheer  loss 

Of  all  thy  comrades  under  tempest  crash. 
Ulys.   Alas  ! 
Teir.  And  to  a  home  of  strife  and  storm ; 


UL  YSSES  99 

To  deadlier  peril  even  than  here  in  hell ; 
To  danger  and  to  darkness  shalt  return. 

Ulys.    And  she,  Penelope  —  doth  she  still  live? 

Teir.    She  lives. 

Ulys.  O  thou  kind  heaven  !  and  holds 

she  true? 
Teir.    She  lives. 

Ulys.        O  if  thou  hast  a  heart,  though  dead, 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  thus. 

Teir.  She  lives  :  farewell. 

\_The  Shade  of  Teiresias  disappears ;    agai?i 
they  drift  onward. 
Ulys.    '  Lives '    and    no    more   is  worse    to   me 
than  'dead.' 
Would  that  I  had  known  nothing  !  onward  —  on  ! 
This  fire  he  hath  put  in  me  I  must  quench  ! 
\_They   pass    the   woe   of    Sisyphus   and  the 
stone. 


lOO  UL  YSSES 

Herm.    See  Sisyphus  that  in  his   anguish  rolls 
Upward,  ever,  the  stone  which  still  rebounds. 
Mark  how  the  sweat  falls,  and  what  whirl  of  dust ! 
Ulys.   Ah,  brother,  such  a  stone  I  roll  in  vain  ! 
There  is  no  torment  here  that  is  not  mine. 

l_T/iey  pass  the  woe  of  Sisyphus,  and  again 
drift  on. 
Ulys.   Is  there  not  one  of  all  these  ghosts  that 
throng 
The  bank,  one  only,  that  can  tell  me  truth. 
Hermes  !  yon  spirit  lordlier  than  the  rest 
With  something  in  his  pace  familiar : 
See  how  he  cometh  thro'  the  other  shades 
With  such  imperial  stride  and  sovereign  motion. 
Herm.  {To  Shade.]    Stay  thou ! 

\_The   Shade   turns,   disclosing   the  form 
of  Agamemnon. 
Ulys.  Ah,  mighty  Agamemnon  !  king  ! 


UL  YSSES  loi 

0  royal  'mid  the  dead  as  in  the  light ! 

1  am  Ulysses :  often  we  took  counsel 
Under  the  stars,  in  the  white  tents,  at  Troy. 
Now  speak  to  me :  a  hving  man  I  come 
Amid  the  dead  for  tidings  of  my  wife 
Penelope.     Doth  she  hold  true  to  me? 

Ag.\m.   Ulysses,  fear  thy  wife  !     Fear  to  return. 

Ulys.   What?     What?     O  speak ! 

Agam.  Thy  wife  awaits  thee  now 

Coiled    like    a    snake    to    strike    thee    with   her 
fangs. 

Ulys.   Unthinkable  ! 

Agam.  She  weaveth  death  for  thee  ! 

Ulys.   Horrible  ! 

Agam.  Look  on  me,  me  whom  my  wife 

False  Clytemnsestra  lured  unto  the  bath 
And    struck  me  here  where  now  thou   see'st  the 
wound. 


102  UL  YSSES 

I  that  first  night  did  bathe  in  my  own  blood, 
The  first  night,  the  sweet  night  of  my  return. 
Ulys.   \_Bowing  his  head.']    O  Agamemnon  ! 
Agam.  She  while  I  did  fight 

About  Troy  city  for  ^gisthus  burned, 
She  snared,  she  slew  me,  then  with  him  she  slept. 
Ulys.    Penelope  !     I'll  kiss  thee  and  fear  not. 
Agam.    Never  so  sweet  was  Clytemnaestra's  kiss 
As  on  that  night,  her  voice,  never  so  soft. 

\_The  Shade  of  Agamemnon  disappears,  and 
again  they  drift  onward. 
Ulys.   Are  these  the  tidings,  these  for  which  I 
dared 
This  darkness  and  the  very  river  of  hell? 
I'll  not  believe  it.     O  for  some  fresh  voice  ! 
On,  on  !     I  cannot  hear  worse  words  than  these. 
\_They  pass  the  woe  <?/ Prometheus  and  the 
vulture.  ^ 


ULYSSES  103 

Herm.    Behold  Prometheus,  who  stole  fire  from 
heaven ; 
Now  at  his  heart  the  eternal  vulture  eats. 

Ulvs.    Prometheus,  on  this  breast    too  anguish 
feeds, 
And  on  this  heart  swoops  down  the  eating  fear : 
The  fear  lest  I  should  find  her  false  at  last, 
False,  false  after  such  sea,  after  such  storm  ; 
False  tho'  I  stumble  toward  her  out  of  hell. 
You  gods,  impose  some  limit !     Now  to  know. 
To  know  if  she  be  true,  to  know,  to  know  ! 

\_They  pass  the  woe  of  Prometheus,  and  again 
drift  onward. 
Shade  of  Anticleia.  [  U7iseen.'\    Ulysses  ! 
Ulvs.  Ah,  who  calls  me  by  my  name? 

Anti.    Ulysses  ! 

Ulvs.  And  the  voice,  tho'  faint  it  comes, 

Is  yet  the  voice  of  one  that  was  a  woman. 


I04  ULYSSES 

Anti.   Ulysses  ! 

Ulys.  And  it  goes   through   all   my 

blood. 
Hermes,  there  is  one  near  me  whom  I  loved : 
A  flitting  shadow,  and  it  comes  and  goes. 
It  stretches  out  its  arms  —  the  face  —  the  face  ! 
'Tis  gone  !     Come  nearer  or  come  not  at  all ! 
Again  !  the  first  face  that  on  earth  I  saw, 
The  shining  eyes  and  the  remembered  smile  ! 
Mother  !  [^He  leaps  on  to  the  bank. 

Here  to  this  breast,  here  to  this  heart  ! 
\^He    tnakes    to   clasp   her  but  the   Phantom 
eludes  him.     Again  he  seeks  to  embrace 
her  but  in  vain. 
Anti.   Thou    canst    not    touch    me,    child.      I 
cannot  fold  thee 
For  all  my  yearning,     O  to  have  thy  head 
Again  upon  this  bosom  !  but  alas  ! 


ULYSSES  105 

I  now  am  but  a  shade  and  a  shadow  that  gUdes. 

Ulys.   Mother,  thy  kiss! 

A>m.  These   were    the    lips 

that  kissed  thee, 
This  was  the  very  breast  which  gave  thee  milk, 
And  this  the  voice  that  sang  thee  into  sleep. 

Ulys.   What  brought  thee  to  thy  death? 

Anti.  Waiting  for  thee, 

Waiting  and  weeping,  and  long  wondering. 

Ulys.    Alas,  alas  !  and  mother,  she?  she  lives  — 
But  stays  she  true  to  me? 

A>rrL  Child,  I  have  come 

But  lately  to  this  place,  and  when  I  died 
Still  was  she  true  to  thee,  and  knew  not  time. 

Ulys.   At  last,  at  last  the  word  tliat  lighteth  hell  ! 
One    word !    and    thou    alone,    mother,    couldst 

speak   it  ! 
Thy  voice  alone  :    thine  out  of  ail  the  dead  ! 


io6  UL  YSSES 

Anti.    It  seems  no  farther  off  than  yesterday 
That  she  and  I  were  standing  hand  in  hand 
Looking  for  thee  across  the  misted  sea. 

[Uu^ssES  weeps. 
But  child,  tho'  lately  I  did  leave  her  crue, 
What  hath  befallen  since?     Ulysses,  home  ! 
I  am  aware   of  tumult  in  thy  halls. 
Confusion  and  a  roar  of  hungry  voices, 
And  peril  closing  round  Penelope  : 
Fierce  peril,   child  !     O  hasten  ! 

Ulys.  Ah  !   what  peril  ? 

Anti.    I  know  not :    but  the   time  is  short :  she 
hath 
Swift  need  of  thee  :  haste,  haste  !  tho'  how  I  yearn 
To  keep   thee   for  a  little   comfort  !   yet 
Home,  get  thee  home  ! 

Ulys.  Farewell,  mother — farewell! 

\The  Ghosts  begin  to  surge  about  him. 


i'LYSSES  107 

Anti.    Speed,  speed  ! 

[Ulysses  rushes  to  the  foot  of  the  descent,  and 
stumbles  upward,  a  multitude  of  Shadows 
swarming  with  cries  about  him. 
Ulys.  She  lives,  and  she  is  true  to  me. 

But  she  hath  need  of  me  !     Up  to  the  earth  ! 

[Ghosts  wheel  about  him   with   cries. 

0  whirhng  dead  !     And  a  great  swirl  of  souls. 

Wife  !  wife  !  I  come. 

[  Cries. 

Ithaca  !    Ithaca  ! 

\_Fiercer  cries. 

1  gasp  and  fight  toward  thee  !     Still  endure  ! 
Think  me  not  dead  !     O  hear  me  out  of  hell ! 

\_Fiercer    and  louder   cries    of   the    whirligig 
dead. 
Ah  !    shall  I  reach  that  glimmer?     Upward,  up  ! 
Faint  not,  Penelope  :  faint  not,  endure  ! 


ACT    III 


ACT  III 

Scene  I 
77/1?  seashore  of  Ithaca  veiled  in  a  sea-j?iist,  the 
petit-house  in  front  of  the  hut  of  EuM^us  the 
stvineherd  dimly  visible  up  stage.  Ulysses,  aged 
by  suffering  and  exposure,  is  tying  asleep  under 
a  tattered  sea-cloak  ;  on  one  side  of  him  stands 
Athene,  on  the  other  Poseidon. 

« 

Ath.   [  With  outstretched  artn.']     Depart,  Posei- 
don !     Thou  canst  vex  no  more 
Ulysses,  who  now  sleeps  on  his  own  shore, 
By  hunger  withered  and  by  tempest  wrung, 
From  toil  to  toil,  from  hell  to  shipwreck  flung. 

Here  let  thy  buffetings  and  fury  end  ! 
Ill 


112  ULYSSES 

Pos.    He  shall  not  rest !     Even  here  his  limbs 
I'll  rend  : 
Back  to  the  foam-path  shall  the  man  be  hurled, 
To  plunge  and  tumble  on  the  watery  world  ! 

Ath.  Let  Zeus  then  from  Olympus  give  a  sign, 
And  thunder  answer  to  my  prayer  or  thine. 
Pos.   [^Raising  his  hands.']     Father  of  gods  !  to 
me  be  vengeance  given, 
That    none    henceforward    mock    the    might    of 
heaven. 
Ath.  Father,  permit  the  man  peace  in  his  home. 
And  lift  at  last  the  wandering  curse  of  foam. 
[Zeus    thunders,    Athene    makes   gesture    to 
Poseidon. 
Pos.  Highest,  I  hear  thy  thunder  and  obey  ! 

\_Going. 
Woe  to  all  ships  1  meet  upon  my  way. 

\^Exii  Poseidon. 


ULYSSES  113 

Ath.    {^Bending  cn'er  Ulysses.]     At  last  I  ease 
thy  bosom  of  its  sighs, 
And  close  the  tribulation  of  those  eyes. 
Soft  as  a  sister  over  thee  I  bend, 
Mortal,  and  move  as  an  immortal  friend. 
There  is  no  earthly  burning  in  this  breast. 
No  fever,  but  this  love  is  rich  in  rest ; 
The  wistfulness  of  women  I  may  feel, 
And  mine  the  faithful  smile,  the  hands  that  heal ; 
But  what  in  them  is  passion  falls  from  me 
Only  as  dew  doth  in  benignity. 
Yet  once  more  will  I  tr>^  thee,  to  make  clear 
If  yet  thy  wit  is  nimble ;   and  appear 
As  a  young  goatherd  from  the  pasture  near. 

\_Tiirmng  before  she  goes. 
Hath    the    wave    rusted    thee,    or    damped    thy 

skill? 
Of  all  thy  tasks  the  fiercest  waits  thee  still, 


H 


114  ULYSSES 

Ere  I  restore  thee,  at  the  destined  time, 

To  armed  splendour  of  thy  manhood's  prime. 

\_Exii  Athene. 
Ulys.    \^Dreaming  of  past  labours^     Ah,  loose 
me  to  that  music  !     Cut  these  cords  ! 
Hark  !  breakers  thro'  the  gloom  !     Reef,  reef  the 
sail ! 

\_He  7vakes  and  gazes  about  him. 
Some  god  hath  cast  me  forth  upon  this  land ; 
And  O!  what  land?     So  thick  is  the  sea-mist, 
All  is  phantasmal.     What  king  ruleth  here? 
What  folk  inhabit?  —  cruel  unto  strangers, 
Or  hospitable?     The  gods  have  lied  to  me 
When  they  foretold  I  should  see  Ithaca. 
This  is  some  swimming  and  Cimmerian  isle, 
With  melancholy  people  of  the  mist. 
Ah  !  Ithaca,  I  shall  not  see  thee  more  ! 

[He  sits  down  in  dejeetion 


ULYSSES  115 

Enter  Athene   disguised    as   a   young  goat- 
het'd  tvith  a  cloak  and  a  staff. 

Ulys.  Sir,  I  pray  you  tell  me  what  land  is 
this? 

Ath.  First  tell  me,  sir,  of  yourself,  and  from 
what  country  you  are  come. 

Ulys.  {^IVith  rapid  affable  mendacity^  My 
name  is  Neleus  and  in  Crete  was  I  born ;  my 
father  Melampus,  and  my  mother  Arcite.  But 
I,  sir,  have  a  man's  blood  on  my  hands  and 
therefore  am  fugitive,  and  seek  refuge  here  if 
any  may  be  found. 

Ath.  {^Aside  in  delight.']  He  hath  his  tale 
on  the  instant ! 

Ulys.  But  now  tell  me  what  is  this  shore  on 
which  I  am  cast  up? 

Ath.    Hast  heard  men  speak  of  Ithaca? 


ii6  ULYSSES 

Ulys.  \_Represstng  sudden  Joy.']     Ithaca  ! 
Somewhere  have  I  heard  the  name,  but  where? 
And  is  this  Ithaca? 

Ath.   Even  so. 

Ulys.    Is    it   an  island    or    part    of  the  main- 
land? 

Ath.   An  island  surely.     And  hast  thou  heard 
never  of  our  king?     He  is  far-famed. 

Ulys.    How  is  he  called? 

Ath.    Ulysses. 

Ulys.   Ulysses !      Did   he   not   sail  with   other 
chiefs  against  Troy  city? 

Ath.   Even  so.      But  now  we  know  not   if  he 
be  alive  or  dead. 

Ulys.    I  fear  that  he  is  dead. 

Ath.    Hast  any  certain  news? 

Ulys.   None   certain,  but  I  much  fear  that  he 
is  drowned  in  the  salt  sea. 


ULYSSES  117 

Ath.   \_Delightedly.']    Yet  might  his  wife   enter- 
tain thee  kindly. 

Ulys.    His  wife  —  {^checking  himself \  Ah!  had 
he  a  wife  ;* 

Ath.   Surely  —  her  name  Penelope. 
Ulys.   Penelope  !    and  it  seems  to  me  that  her 
name  too  I  have  heard. 

Ath.  O  !  well  said,  Ulysses.  Thou  art  never 
wanting. 

Ulys.  \Startingr\^    Stranger  ! 
Ath.    I  am  Athene,  and  have  taken  this  shape 
but  to  try  thy  wit. 

Ulys.  Goddess,  how  shall  men  know  thee? 
And  yet  while  thou  wast  speaking  I  was  aware 
of  a  tone  more  sweet  than  mortal;  but  would 
not  betray  thee. 

Ath.  O  excellent  Ulysses,  who  standest  there 
and   fearest   that   thou   art   dead  !     I    have    more 


Ii8  ULYSSES 

joy  in  thee  than    before,  for   thy  craft   is   in   no 
way  abated. 

Ulys.   But  ah  !  I  am  fooled  again  !     Goddess  ! 
Is  this  Ithaca  indeed  —  this  very  earth? 
Ath.    Behold  ! 

\_The  sea-mist  slowly  unrolls,  discovering  the 
land. 
Ulys.   Slowly  the  mist  fades  !     Ah  !  the  cypress 
tree 
I  was  so  proud  to  plant  as  a  boy  !  and  there 
The  cave  forbidden  which  I  therefore  loved  ! 
Brighter,  more  bright  !     The  crest  of  Neriton  ! 
The  rustling  glade  there  where  I  killed  the  boar. 
Now  all  the  land  gleams  :    look  you  there  !    the 

ridge 
Where  the  young  laughing  babe  Telemachus 
First   clapped    his    hands    at    sight    of    the    sea : 
and  01 


ULYSSES  119 

Yan  holy  winding  path  where  last  I  kissed 
Penelope,    who    toward    me    swayed    and    spoke 

not. 
I  came  there  down  the  slope  most  lingeringly, 
And  turned  by  the  myrtle  tree,  and    turned   and 

turned. 
Goddess,  I  cannot  see  for  the  great  tears. 
There  !     there  !    the    very    peak    to    which    she 

climbed 
Waving  a  sea-farewell  with  helpless  hands  ! 
O  verdure  to  the  sea-man  that's  come  home  ! 
O  light  upon  the  land  where  I  was  born  ! 

0  dear,  dear  Earth,  thou  warm  mother  of  me, 
Art  glad,  art  glad  in  thy  brown  bosom  ;  here 

1  kiss  and  kiss  thee  :  here  I  fling  me  down 
And  roll  and  clasp  and  cover  me  with  thee  ! 

\_Starting  up 
Ah  !  'tis  a  dream  :  O  God,  it  is  a  lure  ! 


I20  ULYSSES 

Incredible  that  ever  I  can  rest ! 

I  am   fooled   by   the   old   sea-magic :    my   home 

trembles : 
An  apparition  of  the  glassy  deep, 
A  fading  island  that  we  come  to  never ! 
Is  it  rooted,  rooted  fast  and  cannot  fly? 
I  shall  go  mad  if  I  am  fooled  !     Speak  !   speak ! 
Is  this  the  earth,  the  earth  where  I  was  born? 
Ath.   Ulysses,  'tis  at  last,  'tis  Ithaca ! 
Ulvs.   Ah  !     \_Sol>s,    overcotne  by   emotion,   then 
slowly']    I  have  been   but  a  little  while  away 
then. 
And  suffered  the  great  sea  as  in  a  dream. 
But  she,  Penelope?     She  lives,  I  know. 
And    she    holds    true :    but    peril    closes    round 

her  — 
What  peril? 

Ath.  Up,  Ulysses,  from  the  ground ! 


ULYSSES  121 

Art  broken  down  ?     Fury,  not  tears,  I  ask  ! 
Up,  up  !    thy  wife  by  suitors  is  beset 
Who  waste  and  strip  and  drink  away  thy  home  : 
She  is  hard  driven  and  on  the  point  to  yield. 
Ulys,  Dogs  !     Dogs ! 

Ath.  Wilt  thou  not  rush  upon  them 

straight 
And  slay  them?   smite,  and  on  the  instant? 

Ulys.  No  : 

I'll  crouch  before  I  spring,  spy  ere  I  leap. 
Ath.  O  wise,  still  wise  !     Now  have  I  tried  thee 
sure. 
Rage    doth    not    make    thee    rash !     No   more    I 

doubt. 
Now    bow    thy    back !    and    cast    on    thee    that 

cloak. 
Thou  art  so  marred  with  the  sea  misery 
That  none  will  know  thee  :  lean  thee  on  this  staff, 


122  ULYSSES 

And  as  a  beggar  knock  at  thy  own  door, 
And  weave  in  thy  own  halls  these  wooers'  doom. 

[  Going. 
Ulys.  Now  dost  thou  leave  me,  in  so  fierce  a 

pass? 
Ath.  I'd  see  thee  stand   alone;    'tis   sweet  to 
those 
In  heaven  at  seasons  to  withhold  their  aid. 
But  I  am  ever  with  thee,  unto  the  end. 
Strike  not,  Ulysses,  till  I  send  the  sign. 

Ulys.  What  sign  ? 

Ath.  a  lightning  flash  :    till  then  forbear. 

Ulys.  \_Asstimtng  his  disguise  and  recognizing 
the  hut  of  Eumceus.']  Ah  !  the  old  swine- 
hut :  lives  Eumaeus  yet? 

\_Exit  Athene. 

\_He  walks  slowly  towards  the  hut.     EuM^us 

is    heard    within :    *  G-r-r  Antifious,  in 


ULYSSES  123 

Eurylochus,  g-r-r  Ctesippus.'  EumvEUS 
comes  out  to  the  pent-house  in  front  of 
the  hut,  carrying  a  pointed  stick. 

EuM.  Away,  old  beggar !  Here  are  no  leav- 
ings for  you  ! 

Ulvs.  Sir,  but  a  handful  of  husks  that  the 
swine  have  left. 

EuM.  Out !  These  are  Ulysses'  swine :  they 
leave  nothing. 

Ulys.  Sir,  I  fall  with  hunger. 

EuM.  And  so  perhaps  even  now  does  my  mas- 
ter. 

Ulys.  I  have  tidings  of  your  lord  Ulysses. 

EuM,  That's  an  old  tale  with  you  beggars  — 
you  have  all  seen  Ulysses,  and  then  you  are  well 
fed  by  his  queen  Penelope.  \^He  begins  ?naking 
a  mash  for  the  swine.']  One  saw  him  in  Troy- 
land,  another  in  Crete,  another    saved    him   from 


124  ULYSSES 

drowning,  another  saw  him  drown  but  could  not 
save  him.  One  hath  a  lock  of  his  hair,  another 
the  string  of  his  sandal.  Dost  carry  anything  of 
his  about  thee? 

Ulys.  I  do. 

EuM.  And  what? 

Ulys.  His  hunger. 

EuM.  Away,  you  saucy  beggar,  or  I'll  loose  his 
dogs  on  you  :  yet  no.  His  wife  will  be  wroth  if 
any  are  turned  away  who  can  tell  of  Ulysses.  Is 
thy  lie  ready,  is  it  a  good  lie? 

Ulys.  Sir,  I  beseech  you,  food  ! 

EuM.  Come  in,  then,  and  earn  thy  supper.  I 
am  not  fooled  like  a  woman  :  fill  that  jar  with 
water,  and  pick  up  these  fallen  acorns.  [Ulysses 
obeys. "]  Where  hast  thou  seen  him  then  ?  There 
is  but  one  place  where  he  has  not  been  seen  — 

Ulys.  What  place  is  that? 


UL  YSSES  125 

EuM.  In  hell :  I  recommend  hell  to  thee  :  no 
beggar  hath  yet  bethought  him  of  hell. 

Ulys.  But  this  would  not  please  his  wife? 

EuM.  No,  but  'twould  set  her  mind  at  rest  con- 
cerning him.  Here's  a  piece  of  fat  chine  for 
thee. 

Ulys.  Humbly  I  thank  you. 

EuM.  His  swine  are  well  kept  stiJl  — 

Ulys.  And  for  that  I  thank  you. 

EuM.  \_Prodding  swine  outsid'.']  G  r-r-r  Anti- 
nous,  Ctesippus  ;  in  Eurymachus. 

Ulys.  Are  swine  so  called. 

EuM.  I  name  these  three  aft^f  the  chief  suitors, 
and  when  rage  swells  to  bursting,  I  strike  them 
so :  a  poor  vengeance,  but  ready  at  all  hours. 
Ulysses  1  Ah  !  year  after  year  have  I  been  faith- 
ful to  thee,  master,  and  of  each  ol  thv  swine  can 
I  give  account ! 


126  ULYSSES 

Ulys.  But  he  being  far  off,  thou  hast  no  need 
to  be  over-careful. 

EuM.  I  have  the  greater  care  because  of  the 
smaller  need. 

Ulys.  But  if  he  be  dead  ! 

EuM.  I'll  not  believe  that  till  I  hear  it  from 
his  own  lips. 

Ulys.  But  this  Ulysses  —  so  I  have  heard  — 
was  but  a  careless  ruler,  and  little  beloved. 

EuM.  Old  man,  hast  a  mind  to  finish  thy  supper? 

Ulys.  I  have  indeed :  for  my  hunger  is  no 
whit  abated. 

EuM.  Then  let  no  ill  word  escape  thee  of 
Ulysses,  or  thou  wilt  go  hungry  away  ! 

Ulys.  And   his  queen,  Penelope? 

EuM.  She,  poor  lady,  is  so  driven  by  the  ras- 
cal wooers  that  this  very  night  is  she  to  choose 
one  of  them  for  husband. 


ULYSSES  127 

Ulys.  This  night? 

EuM.  Yea,  indeed,  for  this  night  the  moon  is 
at  the  full. 

Ulys.  Take  me  to  her,  even  now :  my  hunger 
is  gone  from  me. 

EuM.  Come,  then,  for  the  sky  pales  toward 
twilight !   \_A  sound  of  running  is  heard.'] 

Hark! 

Ulys.  A  sound  of  running,  and  the  feet  nm 
across  my  heart.  \_Aside.'] 

EuM.  Back!  'tis Telemachus, Ulysses'  son, rushing 
hither ;  and  see,  men  pursuing  him  to  take  his  life. 
Ah  !  that  spear  grazed  his  neck.    Master,  master  ! 

Enter  Telemachus  breathless,  faint  with 
running. 

Telem.  Eumaeus,  let  me  die  here  in  this  faith- 
ful spot !     I  am   pursued   by  men  set    on  by  the 


128  ULYSSES 

wooers ;  I  cannot  turn ;  from  each  bush  they 
start.  I'll  die  here  with  my  face  to  them  :  but 
you  —  ah,  old  man  ! 

EuM.  An  old  beggar  with  the  old   tale  of  your 
father. 

\^The  pursuers   appear:    two   or    three   hang 
back,  and  two  follow  to  the  door  of  the 
hut. 
Telem.  Fly,  old  man. 
EuM.  They  are  upon  us. 

Telem.  Father,  let   me  die  as   thy  son  should. 
Ulys.  \_A   beating  at   the   door.']    Stand    back ! 
Within,   both   of  you  !     I  will   speak  with   them. 
Telem.  Wilt  die  then? 

Ulys.  I  do  not  intend   so.     In  !   I'll   have  my 
way. 

[Ulysses  from    entrance   of  hut  approaches 
the  foremost  of  the  two  pursuers. 


ULYSSES  129 

Ulys.  Sir,  sir,  I  die  of  hunger— I  pray  you. 
First  Man.    Out  of  my  way,  old  dog  !   Pylas,  in  ! 
Ulys.  Thus  do  I  clasp  your  knees,  and  entreat. 
First  Man.  Loose  me,  rags  ! 

[Ulysses  tightens  his  grip. 

Ulys.  I  will  not  loose  you  till  you  give  me  food. 

First  Man.  Help,  Pylas,  help  !   his  arm  holds 

like   iron !     Help,  help,  he   pulls  me   down   like 

a  hound  at  my  throat. 

[Ulysses  hurls  him  doivn  and  springs  at  his 
throat. 
Telem.  Take  not  his  life  :  he  is  a  hired  thing. 
Who  set  you  on  to  murder  m.e? 

Pylas.  [Ulysses   suffering  hiin   to  rise.']  Eury- 
machus. 

Telem.  Ah,  he  whose  arm  is  ever  around  my 

neck. 

[Ulysses  re/eases  Pylas,  who  limps  away. 


I30  ULYSSES 

Second  Man.  I'll   fly  a  land   that   breeds  such 

beggars  as  this. 
Telem.    Thou    hast   saved   me  —  me,   who   am 
not  of  thy  blood. 
Thou  hast  o'ertasked  thy  strength  and  tremblest : 

lean 
On  me  :  give  me  thy  hand. 

Ulys.    \_Aside.']  I  fear  to  touch  it. 

Telem.  Still  thou  art  trembling.     Come  ! 

\_Again  holds  out  his  hand. 
Ulys.  Suffer  me,  sir, 

To  kiss  this  hand. 

\_He    kisses    Telemachus'    hand    aftd   bows 
over  it. 
Telem.   Sorrow  not   thus,    old   man !      Lift  up 

thine  eyes. 
Ulys.    I  cannot  yet :    thine  arm  ! 

[Telemachus  leads  hi?n  a  step  or  so 


ULYSSES  131 

There    hath    been    a    time 
When  I  had  led  thee  thus,  ay,  step  by  step. 
Telem.  Thou  hast  not  looked  into  my  face  once. 
[Ulysses  looks  slowly  up  intc  his  face,  laying 
both    hands   on    his   shoulders :  he   looks 
long  on  him,  then  bows  his  head. 
Ulys.  Ah ! 

Thou  art  the  son  of  Ulysses,  art  thou  not? 
Telem.   Ay,   of   Ulysses,    him    that    comes   not 

back. 
Ulys.    I  saw  thy  father  on  a  lone  sea-isle 
Once,  and  he  spoke  thy  name. 

Telem.  O  what  said  he? 

Ulys.    Only  thy   name.      He   looked   o'er   the 
wide  sea. 
And  softly  said,  '  Little  Telemachus.' 

Telem.    [Dashing  tears  from   his  eyesT^    Thou 
hast  seen  him  !  art  the  nearest  thing  to  him. 


132  ULYSSES 

Ulys,   And  I  had  a  sacred  word  from   him  to 

thy  mother. 
Telem.  Come  tell  it  to  her  now,  ere  'tis  too  late; 
.Suitors  like  wolves  about  her  howl ;  and  she 
Must  choose  this  very  night  of  the  full  moon. 
Ulys.    Haste,  haste  ! 

EuM.    \_Comifig  out.']      Old    man,    a    cup    of 
wine  for  thee, 
Thou'lt  have  no  further  need  of  any  lie. 
Thou    hast  saved  her  son,  and  thou  art   sure  of 
supper. 
Ulys.  [^Drinking.]  Is  this  Ulysses'  wine? 

[EuM^us  nods. 

'Tis  a  good  wine. 

\_He    sets    cup    down    suddenly,   pointing    to 

the    sky,    in    which    the  full  moon    has 

become  faintly  visible. 

The  moon,  the  moon  :  come.      \^He  starts  to  go. 


ULYSSES  133 

EuM.  How  didst  thou  guess 

That  way  leads  to  the  palace? 

Ulys.  I    came    here 

Once  as  a  boy,  long  since  :  my  father  brought  me. 
[EuM.EUS  retires  again  within   the  hut. 
Young  sir,  a  moment :  and  this  way  —  apart. 
We  two  are  going  into  mighty  peril. 
And  the  end  who    knows?   now  lest  we  meet  no 

more, 
Wilt     thou     not     kiss     this     grey     head     once? 

may'st  thou 
Never  such  sorrow  know  as  I  have  known  ! 

[Telemachus     bends     over     Ulysses'     head 
and  kisses  it.     Ulysses  is  shaken. 
From  here  thy  palace  roofs  can  we  descry : 
See'st  thou  that  upper  chamber  looking  south? 
There  wast  thou  born  upon  a  summer  night. 
Telem.    But  thou  then? 


134  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.  I  stood  by  the  door  in  fear. 

\^He    thro7Cis    back    the    tattered    cloak    and 
raises  himself  to  his  height. 
Child,  I  begot  thee. 

Telem.  Father,  art  come  home? 

\^He  falls  in  Ulysses'  arms. 
Ulys.    Askest  thou  proof? 

Telem.  I  feel  that  thou  art  he : 

I  know  it  in  every  vein  and  drop  of  blood. 
Thou  art  ragged? 

Ulys.  But  to  weave  these  wooers'  doom. 

Telem.    Eum?eus,    hither !    my   father   is  come 
home. 

EuM.    \_Appearing   at  door.~\    Hast   no    likelier 
tale  for  me  than  that? 
Call  me  not  from  the  pig-mash. 

Telem.  Hither  and  see. 

[EuM^us  comes  down. 
Dost  thou  not  know  him? 


ULYSSES  135 

EuM.    \_Gazing  at  him.']     Sir,  I  know  you  not. 
Ulys.   You  that  are  human  know  me  not :  and 
yet 
If  Argus  my  old  hound  should  see  me  now, 
Though  he  were  dying  he  would  wag  his  tail. 
EuM.    [_Confiisedfy.']     Argus,  old  Argus  ! 
Ulys.  And  for  further  proof, 

The  scar  made  by  the  boar  in  yonder  glade  ! 

[^He  dares  his  knee. 
EuM.    \_Embracing  his  knees.]    O  master,  O  my 

man  of  men  —  at  last  ! 
Ulys.    Rise,  'tis  no   time    for   tears.       Ye'll   go 

with  me? 
EuM.   To  death. 

Ulys.  Yet  I  mistrust  ye. 

Telem.  Father ! 

Ulys.  Not 

Your  love  :  I  doubt  your  wisdom  and  your  craft. 


136  ULYSSES 

When  ye  shall  see  me  buffeted,  reviled, 
Ye  will  forget  I  am  a  beggar  man. 

EuM.    We  will  revile  thee  more  and  taunt  thee 

worse. 
Ulys.   Can   ye   be    very   patient?    for   I   know 
not 
As  yet  what  I  shall  do  :  I  wait  the  sign 
From   her,   that   goddess   who    hath   brought   me 
hither. 
Telem.   We  will  be  very  patient  till  the  end. 
Ulys.    Come  then  :  but  I  will  enter  last,  alone. 
Remove  you  every  weapon  from  the  hall. 
But   leave    three   spears,  three    shields,  upon   the 

walls 
That    we    may   snatch    them    when   our   need    is 

come. 
Now  haste —  \_They  start  to  go. 

Yet  stay;  if  any  ask  of  you 


ULYSSES  137 

Why  ye  have  thus  removed  the  spears  and  shields 
Have  ye  bethought  you  of  your  answer? 
Telem.  No. 

Ulys.   Then   say   ye    have   removed    them   lest 
the  smoke 
Should  tarnish  them  ! 

EuM.  Master,  I  know  thee  now. 

Thy  old  craft ! 

\_The  full  moon    at    this  point  shines  forth 
brightly. 
Ulys.  Lo,  the  moon  already  bright ! 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene   II 
Interior  of  the  hanqueting-hall  in  Ulysses'  palace. 
The  walls  richly  decorated  and  encrusted  with 
coloured  patterns,   bosses    and  friezes   of  ani- 
mals,   etc.       Two    columns  plated   with    bronze 


138  ULYSSES 

sustain   the  roof,  the  central  part  of  which    is 
raised  so  as    to   admit  the   light.      On    a   wall 
hang    the    three    spears    and    three    shields    as 
ordered  by  Ulysses,   and  in   another  place  his 
bow    in     a     richly-decorated    case.       The    hall 
is   lighted  by  lamps  held  by  Attendants.     The 
main    entrance   from     ivithout     is     through     a 
doorway  with    a    raised  threshold  in    the    cen- 
tre  of  the  stage  at  the  back :    this   door  stands 
open    to    the    vestibule    and    the    moonlight :    a 
staircase  on  the  left  leads  up    to  another  door 
opening     into     the     women's     apartments.      A 
dais   extends   along   the   back   of  the   hall :    on 
this    and    on    the  floor   to    right  and  left  are 
disposed    the     tables     and    couches    where     the 
Suitors     are     discovered    revelling,     with     the 
faithless  Handmaidens  interspersed  among  them 
and  drinking  from    their    cups,    and    Attend- 


ULYSSES  139 

ANTS  standi  fig  by  and  serving.  Telemachus 
sits  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  tables.  hi  the 
cefitfe  of  the  hall  is  an  open  space,  zoith  a 
fire  burning  on  the  hearth  in  the  midst,  and 
beside  it  the  chairs  of  Penelope  and  the 
Minstrel,  the  former  unoccupied.  Phemius  the 
Minstrel  is  seated  in  his  chair  by  the  hearth, 
singing  — 

Great  is  he  who  fused  the  might 
Of  the  earth  and  sun  and  rain 
Into  draughts  of  purple  hght, 

Draughts  that  fire  the  heart  and  brain  : 
Let    us    praise    him    when    the    goblets    flash    in 

light 
And  the  rapture  of  the  revel  fills  the  brain. 

What  were  revel  without  wine  ? 
What  were  wine  without  a  song  ? 


I40  ULYSSES 

Let  US  hymn  the  gift  divine 
With  a  music  wild  and  strong, 
With    a    shouting    for    the    god    who    gave    the 

wine, 
And   a    guerdon    to    the    minstrel    for    his    song. 

Blest  is  he  who  strikes  the  lyre 
At  the  feast  where  princes  quaff: 

Higher  -mounts  the  mirth  and  higher. 
Loud  and  louder  peals  the  laugh  — 

[Phemius  breaks   off  suddenly^  gazing  on  the 
Suitors    in    horror   while    a   dim    tnist 
comes  down  on  the  hall  and  the   moon- 
light is  obscured. 
Antin.   What  ails  thee,  man? 
EuRYM.  Why  dost  thou  stare  on  us? 

Phem.     O    wretched    men !      What    doom    is 
coming  on  ye? 


UL  YSSES  141 

What  mist  is  this  that  overspreads  the  world? 
Shrouded  are  all  your  faces  in  black  night ! 

{_They  laugh  together  softly  and  sweetly. 
See  how  the  feast  is  dabbled  o'er  with  blood, 
And    all    your    eyes    rain    tears,    and    though    ye 

laugh 
Sweetly  on  me,  ye  laugh  with  alien  lips  ! 

[Again  they  laugh  sweetly  upon  him. 
And  a  voice  of  wailing  arises  and  all  the  walls 
Drip   fast   with   blood,   yea,  and   with   blood   the 

roof  ! 

[They  laugh  again. 

And    the  porch   is  full   and   full   is   the  court   of 

ghosts 
And  spirits  hurrying  hell-ward  in  the  gloom, 
Yea,  and  the  light  hath  perished  out  of  heaven  ! 
Laugh  not  so  idly  on  me  with  your  lips. 
But  arise  and  flee  !  your  doom  is  at  the  doors. 


142  ULYSSES 

[Phemius  hurries  out  of  the  hall.     The  viist 
clears  and  Ulysses  is  seen   standing  on 
the    threshold    in     the    central    doorway 
unohsen^ed  by  any. 
Antin.    Madness  is  come  upon  him  ! 
EuRYM.  O,  a  poet ! 

Ctes.    He  hath   taken    from  me   all    desire    for 
food. 
And  there!  is  that  blood  there?     Eurymachus  ! 
Am  I   not  rosy  and  round  as  ever  I  was? 
EuRYM.    You  are,  Ctesippiis. 
Ctes.  And  I  see  no  ghosts. 

Antin.    He    hath    drunk   o'ermuch :     hence    all 

this  mist  and   blood. 
EuM.    \_To   Telemachus.]     O    master,   see    you 
that  old  beggar  man? 
Say,  shall  I  put  him  from  the  door?      Out,   out  ! 
[  With  exaggerated  roughness. 


UL  YSSES  143 

Ulys.    {^Coming  down  into  the  hall.']      I   crave 
a  word,  sir,  with  Ulysses'  son. 
Which  is  he? 

EuM.  There ! 

Ulys.     ^^Approaching  Telemachus   humbly.'] 

Suffer  me,  sir,  a  word  1 
I  bring  you  tidings  of  your  father. 

Telem.     [  With  si?niilated  harshness.]      O  ! 
The  old  tale  ! 

Ulys.    \_Cringingly.]    Sir! 
Telem.  Out  with  thee  ! 

EuM.  Out ! 

Telem.  Or  stay  ! 

Thou   shalt    have    leave    to   limp    from    guest   to 

guest 
And   eat   what   thou    canst    beg.       As    for    your 

tale. 
My  father  is  long  dead. 


144  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.  Then  first  from  you 

I  beg  a  crust  of  bread,  or  sip  of  wine. 

Telem.   Here's  for  thee. 

\_Tosses  him  bread. 

Ulys.  Humbly,  sir,  I  thank  you. 

\^He  passes  from  guest  to- guest. 

A  Suitor.    Here. 

\_PusJies  wine-cup  to  hitn. 

Ctes.    My    appetite    is    fled :    take    what    you 

will. 

EuRYM.   Here  is  a  gristly  morsel  for  old  gums. 

Mel.    \_To   Antinous,  as  Ulysses   approaches.'] 

Antinous,    keep   the   old   man   far   from   me  ! 

He'll  soil  this  robe  ;  and  hath  a  smell  of  swine. 

Ulys.  I  would  not  soil  you,  lady;  but  you,  sir  — 

Antin.   You    louting    beggar,    I    have    nought 

for  you  ! 

From  me  ! 

\_IIe  strikes  him  on  the  mouth. 


UL  YSSES  145 

EuRYM.       He  stood  thy  buffet  like  a  rock  ! 
Ulys.    O  my  deep   soul,  endure  ! 
Telem.    \_Starting  up.']  Antinous, 

I'll  have  no  beggar  struck  within  my  halls  ! 

Antdj.  Oho  !   And  did  I  strike  one  of  thy  blood 
Or  of  thy  guests?     Thou  filthy   beggar,  off! 

\_Stnkes  him  again. 
Ulys.   Athene,  patience  ! 

EuM.  All   my  blood  boils  up. 

[Throws  log  savagely  on  fire. 
Ulys.    [Comi/ig   near    to    Antinous.]  O   noble 
sir,  of  all  who  feast  around. 
Tall  men   and  fair,  thou   art  the  fairest  far, 
And  splendid  in  thy  youth  and  in  thy  strength. 
But  I  am  old  and  many  have  I  seen 
So  fair,  so  strong,  fallen  into  misery, 
Princes  whom  in  their  pride  the  gods  laid  low. 
Remember  in  thy  strength  the  evil  days. 


K 


146  UL  YSSES 

Antin.    {Starting  up.']    This  dismal  beggar  I'll 
endure  no  more, 
Who  gibbers  at  the  feast  of  evil  days. 
Away  with  him  or  I  will  hurl  him  forth. 

Ctes.    a  sad  feast  this — the  minstrel  first  sees 
blood  : 
And  now  this  beggar  croaks  to  us  of  age. 

Clyt.    Since    he    came    in   we   are   all    grown 

miserable. 
Mel.    Sirs,  drive  him  forth,  that  we  may  laugh 

again 
Suitors.    [Rising  from   the    tables.']     Out   with 
the  old  crow  !   cast  him  out :   away  ! 
{They   come   round  Ulysses   and  hustle  him 
to  the  door. 
Telem.    I  say  the  old  man  shall  not  be  thrust 

forth. 
{Aside  to  Ulysses.]  Is  it  now,  father,  is  it  now? 


UL  YSSES  147 

EuM.  When,  when? 

Suitors.  \_Husiling  Ulysses.]    Out  with   him  ! 
Handmaids.  Spit  on  him  ! 

Suitors.  Unloose  the  dogs  ! 

Ctes.   \_Inferposing.']       A    word,    a    word  1     thy 
mother  still  delays  : 
Let  us  beguile  the  time  ;  leave  him  to  me. 
And  we'll  wring  laughter  from  this  kill-joy  yet. 

\_To  Ulysses  with  mock  deference^ 
Give  me  your  hand,  old  man  ! 

[Ti?  Suitors.]  These  beggars  all 
Were  princes  once.     Now  hearken  !     Sir,  I  see 
Behind  these  rags  and  filth  what  man  thou  art. 
Tell  us  —  and  now  I  look  on  thee  I   mark 
A  something  noble  in  thy  air — thou  hadst 
A  palace  once,  and  riches,  hadst  thou  not? 
Ulvs.    a  palace  and  great  riches  had  I  once. 

\_Generai  laughter. 


148  UL  YSSES 

Ctes.    {^To   Suitors.]    What   said    I  ?    Yet   in 
rags  the  great  are  known. 
Wast  thou  not  in  old  days  thyself  a  king? 
Ulys.    In  the  old  days  I  was  myself  a  king. 

\_All  laugh  heartily. 
Ctes.    \To  Suitors.]     Hush  ! 
\^To  Ulysses.]       Look   around;    even   such   a 

hall  hadst  thou. 
Ulys.     \_Gazing   sloivly   around.']     Once  did  I 

feast  in  some  such  hall  as  this. 
Ctes.    Not  by  thine  own  fault  (ah  !   I  know  it 
well) 
But  by  some  anger  of  the  gods  thou  art  fallen. 
Ulys.   The  gods,  the  gods  have  brought  me  to 

this  pass. 
Antin.    Impudent  liar! 

Ctes.  And  thou  didst  leave  behind 

A  wife  most  beautiful,  a  queen  of  women  ! 


UL  YSSES  149 

Telem.    How  long  will  he  endure? 

EuM.  O  for  a  blow ! 

Mel.    He  is  growTi  cautious,  he'll  not  speak  to 

that. 
Clyt.    His  wife  !     Some  addled  hag  that  tend- 

eth  swine  ! 
Mel.   Was    woman    found    to    mate    her    with 

such  mud  ? 
Telem.    His  spirit  is  dead  in  him. 
EuM.  Thou  art  broken  at  last ! 

Cl\t.    He    speaks    not  !      See,    the    old    fool's 

eyes  are  dim. 
Mel.    [Jf'i//i  mock  caress.']     O  shall  I  kiss  thy 

tears  away,  my  love? 
Chlor.   Thy  wife  is  old  :    wilt   thou   have  me, 

fair  youth? 
Cl\t.    O    wouldst    thou    take    me,   bridegroom, 

to  thy  halls  ! 


ISO  ULYSSES 

EuRVM.    Cease,  cease  !      Ye   all   mistake.     He 

hath  come  here 
A  suitor  for  Penelope. 

Antin.    \_Thro7infig   cup    at  him.']     Then    take 
This  gift  to  aid  thy  suit. 

A  Suitor.    \_Throwing  a  bowl.]     And  this. 
Ctes.   \Throwing  a  scrap  from  the  feast.]  And 

this. 
Others.     \_Casti7jg    things    upofi    him.]       And 

here  :  and  here. 
Ctes.  Now  up  and  urge  thy  suit  ! 

Telem.   \_To  EuMiEUS.]     Why  wait  a  word  that 

never  comes?     The  swords! 
EuM.    Stay,  stay  :    he  looks  on  us,  and  his  eye 

burns. 


ULYSSES  151 

Enter  Penelope  down  staircase  from  the 
upper  chambers;  she  walks  slowly  and 
sadly  to  her  chair  beside  the  hearth  in 
the  centre  of  the  room. 

Suitors.  \_Making  way  for  her  and  then  gath- 
ering to  right  and  left  of  her  in  the  central 
space.']     The  Queen,  the  Queen  ! 

Antin.  Now  be  the  bridegroom  chosen  ! 

EuRYM.     Lady,    this    is    the   night    when    thou 
shalt  choose. 
Grave  is  thy  mien :    here's   that  shall  make  thee 

smile. 
Bring  forth  this  wooer  lordliest  and  last. 

Ctes.  These  rags  are  but  a  guise :  a  noble 
man  ! 

Pen.  \_To  Telemachus.]  Child,  knowest  thou 
this  old  man  whom  they  mock? 


152  UL  YSSES 

Telem.    Mother,  it  is  an  old  poor  beggar  man 

Who  says  that  he  brings  tidings  of  my  father. 

Wilt  thou  not  hear  him,  mother,  ere  thou  choose? 

EuRYM.    Art  thou  still  eager,  lady,  for  new  lies? 

Antin.   Art   thou  not  weary  of  these    beggars' 

tales? 
Pen.    I  have  been  too  oft  deceived  :    now  my 
still  heart 
I  bare  no  more  to  every  beggar's  eye  : 
Sacred  shall  be  this  hunger  of  my  soul 
And  silent  till  the  end  — 

\To  Telemachus,  who  makes  signs  to  her."] 

What  wouldst  thou  say? 
Telem.    \Taking  her  apart.'\     Mother,  a  word; 

but  a  word. 
Antin.    \_Interpflsing.'\     Stand  back,  young  sir  ! 
There  shall  be  no  more  plots  between  you  two. 

\_Murm7irs  of  assent. 


UL  YSSES  153 

Nor  beggars  weave  another  web  —  of  lies. 
The   moon   is   full !     Now   shalt    thou   choose   at 
once. 
Telem.    Mother  ! 
Antin.         An  end  of  tricks  ! 
Some  Suitors.  Thy  word,  thy  word  ! 

Others.    Now  answer  ! 
Others.  Now  no  more  delay ! 

All.  Choose,  choose  ! 

\They   all   crowd   about   Penelope    to    hear 
her   decision,   Ulysses   in    the   meantime 
crouching   in  the  ashes  by  the  hearth. 
Ulys.   Goddess,  hast  thou  forsaken  me  at  last? 
Telem.    \_To   Ulysses.]    A    moment,    and    too 

late  ! 
Ulys.  I  wait  the  sign  ! 

Pen.   Speak    any    then    who  will :    I'll    answer 
him. 


154  ULYSSES 

Ctes.    1  claim  to  speak  the  first. 

EuRYM.  By  right  of  age. 

Ctes.    Lady,  I  cannot  speak  as  a  raw  boy, 
But  as  a  man  of  comfortable  years ; 
Though  in  my  youth  more  terrible  was  none 
To  foemen  ;  and  I  like  not  to  remember 
The  blood  that  I  have  spilt.     Behold  me  now 
A  man  not  old,  but  mellow,  like  good  wine, 
Not  over-jealous,  yet  an  eager  husband. 
This  figure  something  of  Apollo  lacks, 
But  though  I  might  not  catch  the  eye  of  a  girl, 
Still  a  wise  woman  would  consider  well. 
Ponder  by  nights  ere  she  would  let  me  go. 
Yet  I  would  urge  less  what  Ctesippus  is 
Than  what  Ctesippus  has  the  power  to  give. 
\_To  Attendants.]    Now   hold    up    to    the    moon 

that  glimmering  robe ; 
Turn  it  this  way  and  that ;  this  coffer  now, 


ULYSSES  155 

With  armlets  of  wrought  gold,  brooches  of  price, 
And    golden    bowls    embossed    with    beasts    and 

men  ; 
These  draught-boards,  ivory  inlaid  with  silver, 
That  glistering  tire  and  these  enamelled  chains. 
Lo,  whatsoever  woman  can  desire 
I'll  give  thee  without  pause  and  without  stint, 
Wilt  thou  but  suffer  me  to  lead  thee  home. 

Pen.    Ctesippus,  not  the  glory  of  gems  or  gold 
Can  move  me  :  hath  the  sea  a  pearl  so  rich 
As  dead  Ulysses  which  it  treasureth 
Far  down,  far  from  these  eyes?     Rather  would  I 
Possess  some  rag  of  him  drawn  up  perchance 
By  nets  of  seamen  hauhng  'neath  the  moon 
Than  all  these  jewels  glistering  at  my  feet. 
How  couldst  thou  think  to  please  me  with  these 

toys, 
When  in  that  chamber  I  have  garnered  up 


IS6  UL  YSSES 

Garments  more  rich  to  me,  faded  and  dim, 

Old  robes  and  tarnished  armour  loveHer  far? 

Those   hadst   thou    seen,   thou   couldst  not   offer 

these. 

EuM.    \^To   Ctesippus.]    Now   thou    hast    leave 

to  go  — 

\Murmurs. 

Your  pardon,  princes. 

EuRYM.    Lady,  I  bring  no  gauds  of  pearl   and 

gold, 

I  know  thou  art  not  this  way  to  be  lured. 

I  share  thy  grief  for  him  who  now  is  dead  : 

Noble  was  he,  a  wise  man  and  a  strong. 

O  were  he  here,  I  first  would  clasp  his  hand. 

A  moment  till  my  voice  return  to  me. 

\_He  bows  his  head  on  his  hands. 

But  she  who  sits  enthroned  may  not  prolong 
The  luxury  of  tears ;  nor  may  she  waste 


ULYSSES  157 

In  lasting  widowhood  a  people's  hopes, 
So  hard  is  height,  so  cruel  is  a  crown. 
Thou  art  a  queen  :  a  moment  then  for  grief; 
Then  for  the  people  what  remains  of  life. 
I  offer  thee  the  comfort  of  high  cares, 
And  consolation  from  imperial  tasks : 
To  share  with  me  the  governance  of  a  land 
And  bring  thy  woman's  insight  to  the  state. 
The  touch  that's  gracious,  deft,  and  feminine. 

Sea-gazing  consort  of  a  hero  dead 
Reign  thou  with  me  ;  and  find  in  rule  relief  ! 
That  thou  no  longer  art  a  girl,  and  green. 
Troubles  me  not ;  rather  I  prize  thee  more 
For  that  long  suffering  and  sleeplessness 
And  the  sweet  wisdom  of  thy  widowhood. 
Thou    hast    caught    splendour   from    the    sailless 

sea, 
And  mystery  from  many  stars  outwatched; 


IS8  UL  YSSES 

Rarer  art  thou  from  yearning  and  more  rich. 
Humbly  I  would  entreat  you  for  my  answer. 

Pen.   Sir,  could  I  list  to  any,  'twere  to  thee : 
Fair  were  thy  words,  and  such  as  women  love, 
And    thou    hast    found    my    brain,    but    not    my 

heart, 
Feigning  a  ruth  I  felt  thou  didst  not  feel. 
Ask  me  not  to  forget  in  public  good 
This  solitary,  dear,  and  piercing  loss. 
Rather  would  I  remember  one  dead  man, 
Wasting  the  years  away,  and  yet  remember, 
Than  rule  a  living  kingdom  by  thy  side. 
Alas  !   I  am  a  woman  utterly  ! 

Antin.     Enough    of    jewels,    and    enough    of 

thrones ! 
Would   these   men    lure    thee?      I   by   thee    am 

lured. 
For  thee,  O  woman,  thee  alone,  I  thirst. 


ULYSSES  159 

Time,    that    doth    mar    us    all,    and    dims,    and 

damps, 
Ashens  the  hair  and  scribbles  round  the  eye, 
Weareth  not  thee,  thou  miracle,  away. 
Ever  in  beauty  waxing  without  wane. 
No  more  I'll  toss  upon  a  burning  bed. 
Leap  out  at  midnight  on  a  smouldering  floor, 
Pacing,  pacing  away  the  aching  night. 
Thou,  thou  didst   light    this   fire,  and    thou   shalt 
quench  it. 
Telem.    \_Aside   to  Ulysses.]     Dost  thou  hear, 

father? 
Ulys.  Goddess,  now  the  sign  ! 

Antin.   Or,  if  thou  will  not,  I'll  compel  thee. 

\_Murmurs. 

O! 
I  care  not  for  your  murmurs  :    I  risk  all ! 
Come  now  away  !   or  on  the  instant  I 


l6o  UL  YSSES 

Will    catch    thee    in    these    arms    up    from    the- 

ground 
And  fling  thee  o'er   my   shoulder,   and   run   with 

thee 
As  from  a  house  aflame. 

Telem.  I'll  spill  thy  blood. 

Ulys.   Unleash  me,  goddess,  let  me  go. 
EuM.  Up,  up  ! 

Antin.    For   what    dost    thou    still   wait?     For 
whom,  for  whom? 
Thy    husband?     he    is    dead,    drowned     in     the 

ooze  : 
The  fish  are  at  him  now  in  the  deep  slime. 
Pen.   O! 

Telem.    {To  Ulysses.]     Art  thou  tame? 
Ulys.  I  bite  these 

bloody  lips. 
Antin.    Or  if  he  be  not  dead,  what  is  he  now? 


UL  YSSES  "  i6i 

A     shambling     shadow,     a     wrecked,     mumbling 

ghost, 
A  man  no  more  :    no  better  than  yon  beggar 
That  huddles  to  the  fire  :    so  bowed,  so  worn, 
So  ragged  and  ruined,  and  so  filthy  and  fallen  ! 
Look  on  that  beggar  !     There  thy  husband  see  ! 

Pen.    Splendid  Antinous,  I  tell  thee  this ; 
That  if  my  husband  on  this  moment  came 
In  by  that  door  even  as  yon  beggar  man, 
So  bowed,  so  worn,  so  ragged  and  so  fallen. 
Him  would  I  rather  catch  unto  this  heart 
And  hold  his  holy  ruins  in  my  arms, 
Than  touch  thee  in  thy  glory  and  thy  strength. 

Ulys.    {Starting  up.']    O  nobly  spoken  ! 

[  Uproar. 
Suffer  an  old  man  ! 

Antin.    Now  answer. 

EuRYM.  Lady ! 


l62  •  UL  YSSES 

Ctes.  Bring  those  robes 

again  ! 
Pen.    {^Bewildered r\      Sirs,    but    one    moment, 
will  you  give  me  leave? 
Then  do  I  swear  by  all  the  gods  to  choose. 
A  womanish  last  request  —  a  silly  favour  ! 
Antin.    O  ! 
EuRYM.    \Fawning  on  /ler.^     Lady,   I  will   not 

refuse  thee. 
Pen.  'Tis 

That  I  may  satisfy  me  if  this  beggar 
Perhaps  doth  bring  me  tidings  of  Ulysses. 
Antin.   This  but  to  put  us  by  ! 
EuRYM.    [6"////  fawns.'\  Suffer  her,  sirs  - 

\The  Suitors  7-etire  sullenly  up.  Penelope 
comes  back  to  her  seat  at  the  fire  beside 
which  Ulysses  crouches.  As  she  ap- 
proaches him   he  trembles. 


ULYSSES  163 

Pen.    Old  man,  wilt  thou  deceive  me  yet  again  ' 
Be  not  afraid  :  there's  nought  in  me  to  fear. 

Ulys.    I'll  not  deceive  thee,  lady  :  nearer  draw 
And  motion  all  away  ! 

[Penelope  signs  to  all  to  move  away 
Canst  thou  endure 
The  shaft  of  sudden  joy,  yet  make  no  cry? 
Pen.  Though  I  shall  fall  I'll  not  cry  out :  say,  say. 
Ulys.   Ulysses    lives  —  thou   art   gone   white  — 
be   still  ! 
Grip  fast  thy  chair  and  look  upon  the  ground  !  — 
And  he  is  very  near  to  thee  even  now. 
Pen.    Where,  where  ? 

Ulys.  This  night  is  he  in  Ithaca ; 

Perchance  even  now  is  rushing  to  his  halls  ; 
Might  at  this  moment  come  in  by  that  door. 

Pen.  How  shall  I  trust  thy  tale?  If  thou  sayest  true 
Thou  ne'er  shalt  beg  again. 


1 64  UL  YSSES 

Ulys.  I  come  from  him. 

Pen.   What  is  thy  name  ? 

Ulys.  Idomeneus  from  Crete. 

He  charged  me  with  these  tidings — and  this  ring. 

Pen,   This  would  he   not   have  given  :   O   this 
was  pulled 
From  his  dead  finger  ! 

Ulys.  Lady,  if  I  lie, — 

If  on  this  night  Ulysses  comes  not  home,  — 
Then  give  me  to  thy  thralls  to  slay  me  here. 

Pen.   Ah  !  they  will  kill  him. 

Ulys.  Fear  not ;  he  is  wise. 

Only  do  thou  each  moment  still  delay 
Thy  answer. 

Pen.  Yet  what  plea? 

Ulys.  Propose  to  them 

Some  simple  trial  whereby  thou  mayst  choose. 

Pen.    What,  what  ? 


UL  YSSES  165 

Ulys.  The  bow  :    is  that  Ulysses'   bow  ? 

Pen.    Cherished    and    daily    suppled    by    these 

hands. 
Ulvs.  Say  thou  wilt  choose  whoe'er  shall  bend 
his  bow. 
But  still  to  interpose  some  brief  delay, 
Call  you  some  woman  forth  to  bathe  my  feet. 

Pen.  Melantho,  bring  clear  water  hither  and  bathe 
This  old  man's  feet. 

Mel.  I  ?    I'll  not  touch  his  feet, 

For  I  can  touch  the  lips  of  better  men. 

Ulys.   Lady,  some  woman  that  hath  seen  much 
sorrow 
As  I  have. 

Pen.  Eurycleia,  bathe  his  feet. 

[EuRYCLEiA  brings  water  iti  a  brazen  vessel 
to  Ulysses  ;  as  he  lifts  his  robe  she 
sees   the   scar  and  drops   the   basin. 


1 66  ULYSSES 

Eur.   The  scar  there. 

Ulys.  Wouldst  thou  slay  me? 

hold  thy  peace. 

Pen.   What  ails  thee,  Eurycleia? 

Eur.  O  my  mistress  ! 

These  old  hands  tremble  even  at  such  a  task. 

Antin.    \_Advancing.']     Now,    lady,   now !    This 
is  delay  enough  ! 
Hast  thou  at  last  heard  tidings  of  thy  lord? 
Doth  he  come  home  to-night? 

Pen.  Alas,  alas  ! 

He  is  drowned,  and  from  his  finger,  lo  !  this  ring. 

Antin.   Thou'rt  satisfied  at  last? 

Suitors.  Now  answer : 

choose. 

Pen.    No  one  of  you  I  like  above  the  rest. 
Yet  have  I  sworn  to  choose  :   so  I  will  put 
This  matter  to  a  simple  trial. 


UL  YSSES  \fi-j 

Suitors.  What  ? 

Pen.   See    where    behind    you    hangs    Ulysses' 
bow. 
He  that  can  bend  his  bow  and  loose  a  shaft, 
Him  will  I  take  as  husband  from  you  all. 

\They  rush  to  take  it. 
Suitors.     The  bow  ! 

Pen.   {^Staying  them.']  My  son  alone  shall  reach 
it  down, 
After  such  time  shall  be  the  first  to  touch  it. 
[Penelope    retires   down    to   watch   the  trial. 
TELE^L\CHUS  brings  down    the    bow    and 
a  sheaf  of  arrows.     Ctesippus  advances, 
and    after   much  groaning  and  panting 
fails  to  string  it. 
Ctes.  Easily  in   the   morning    could  I  bend  it, 
But  I  have  supped  ! 

[EuRYMACHUS  essays  to  string  it  and  fails. 


1 68  ULYSSES 

EuRYM.         Lady,  wilt  choose  a  husband 
For  brutish  force?  what  play  hath  the  mind  here? 
[Antinous  fails  to  string  the  bow. 
Antin.    If  I    can    bend   it   not,    no    man   can 

bend  it. 
Pen.  \To   Others.]   And   will   you   not   essay? 

or  you  ? 
Others.  Not  we. 

Another.  Where  craft  and  strength  have  failed- 

what  use  for  us  ? 
Pen.  I  will  wed  no  man  till  he  bend  that  bow. 
\_Angry  murmurs  among  the  Suitors. 
[^Lightning  flashes ;  Ulysses  recognises  by  the 
sign  that  the  tnoment  for  action  has  come. 
Ulys.  [^Rising.']     Lady,    and    princes,    but    to 
make  you  sport, 
I  will  essay  to  bend  Ulysses'  bow : 

\_Lou(l  laughter. 


UL  YSSES  169 

To  make  you  sport  —  for  I  have  supped  full  well. 
Antin.  Impudent   rags !      Thou    shalt    not   vie 

with  us. 
TelExM.  The    beggar    shall   make    trial :    come, 

old  man  ! 
Ctes.  The  old  man  !    excellent ! 
All.   \_Laughing  loudlyr\         The   beggar   man  ! 
EuRVM.   Come   forth,   thou  wooer   lordliest  and 

last. 
Antix.    Here   is   a   broad   mark   for   thy  shaft, 

old  man. 
Pen.  Ah,  mock  him  not ! 

Ulys.  Sirs,  but  to  make  you  sport. 

\^He  totters    towards  the  bow. 
Athene,  strength  !    O  if  my  might  should  fail  me  ! 
\He    takes    the    bow,    and    after    simulated 
faltering,  strings  it  amid  the  affiazed  si- 
lence of  the  Suitors.     He  springs  to  his 


l^o  ULYSSES 

height,  and  appears  in  his  own  likeness, 
his    rags  falling  from  him,  and  disclos- 
ing him  armed  afid  in  the  full  glory  of 
manhood. 
Dogs,  do  ye  know  me  now? 

Pen.  \_Riishing  towards  him.']  Ulysses  ! 
Ulys.  Back ! 

Suitors.  \_Amazedly  amid  themselves.']  Ulysses  ! 
is  it  he  ?     Is  it  he  —  Ulysses  ? 

[Ulysses  shoots,  killing  Antinous,  laho  falls. 
Ulys.  Who  is  for  me?    The  swords  there  and 
the  shields  ! 

Telemachus   and  EuM/EUS   snatch   down    the 
weapons,  and  arming  Ulysses  and  them- 
selves, stajid  by  him. 
EuRYM.    \_Coming  over  fawningly  from   among 
the   Suitors   towards   Ulysses.]      Hero    restored, 
I'll  stand  by  thee  for  one  ! 


UL  YSSES  171 

Ulys.     \Striding     out     and     spearing     himP^ 

Would'st  fawn  on  me  ?  go  fawn  among  the  dead. 

[EuRYMACHUS  falls.     The  Suitors,  findmg  no 

weapons  on  the  walls,  crowd  waveringly 

together. 

Ctes.    ^^Encouraging    them.']      We    are    ten    to 

one  :   crush,  crush  them  by  sheer  weight. 

\_The  Suitors  ?nake  a  headlong  rush  upon 
Ulysses  and  his  companions,  but  are 
stayed  in  mid  rush  by  thunder,  lightning, 
and  supernatural  darkness,  followed  by 
the  apparitio7i  of  Athene  standing  by 
Ulysses. 
Suitors.  The  gods  fight  for  him.  Fly!  we  are 
undone. 

[Athene  and  Ulysses  with  Eujleus  atid 
Telemachus  fall  on  them,  atid  they  are 
driven   in  fierce  brief  medley,   visible   by 


172  ULYSSES 

flashes   of  lightning,   and  ivith   noise  of 
groans   and  falls,  out  headlong   through 
the    door.      Soutids     of    slaughter    con- 
tinue to  be  heard  frotn   the  court  with- 
out.      The     darkness     lifts,     discovering 
Ulysses    standing    on    the   threshold  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  hall,   Athene  still 
at  his  side.     He   turns,  laying  by  sword 
and    shield,    while    Penelope    gazes    in 
passionate  uncertainty  toward  him  from 
the  corner  of  the  hall. 
Ulys.   \_Solemnly^     First    unto    Zeus     and     to 
Athene  praise  ! 
Go  all  of  you  apart !  even   thou,  my  son, 
And  leave  me  with  Penelope  alone. 

Ath.  Thou    art    come    home,   Ulysses !      Now 
farewell ! 
For  violated  laws  are  here  avenged,  ^^ 


ULYSSES  173 

And   I,   who   brought    thee   through    those   bitter 

years, 
Those  bitter  years  which  make  this  moment  sweet, 
I,  even,  in  this  moment  have  no  share. 

[Athene   disappears. 
[Ulysses  afid  Penelope  slowly  approach  each 
other    across   the   hall,    with    rapt   gaze, 
hesitatingly.     Then   she   is  folded  to   his 
breast  in  silence,  while   the  voice  of  the 
Minstrel  is  heard  without,  repeating  the 
words  of  the  song  from  the  first  Act, 
And  she  shall  fall  upon  his  breast 
With  never  a  spoken  word, 

and  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  which  has 
burnt  low  throughout  this  scene,  leaps 
up  into  sudden   brightness. 

CURTAIN 


NOTE    BY  THE   AUTHOR 

The  methods  and  limitations  of  epic  and 
drama  differ  completely  :  and  in  attempting  to 
write  a  play  on  the  story  and  character  of  Ulysses, 
as  they  are  known  to  all  the  world  from  the 
Odyssey  of  Homer,  the  first  thing  needful  is  to 
sacrifice  five-sixths  at  least  of  the  episodes  which 
give  that  poem  its  enchantment.  Some  writers 
who  have  made  the  attempt  have  even  judged  it 
best  to  omit  the  entire  tale  of  the  hero's  wan- 
derings, and  to  treat  only  those  of  his  actions 
which  take  place  after  his  return  to  Ithaca. 
Both  M.  Ponsard,  in  a  lyrical  drama  written  to 
Gounod's  music,  and  Mr,  Robert  Bridges,  in  his 
poetical  play,  '  The  Return  of  Ulysses,'  have  fol- 
lowed this  plan. 

175 


176  ULYSSES 

As  the  reader  has  perceived,  I  have  gone 
farther  back  in  the  story,  and  taken  in  two  of 
Ulysses'  earUer  trials,  the  sojourn  with  Calypso 
and  the  visit  to  Hades,  which  seemed  to  me  to 
afford  matter  for  telling  dramatic  presentment 
and  dramatic  contrast.  And  I  have  tried  to  weave 
these  adventures,  together  with  the  return  to 
Ithaca  and  the  final  discomfiture  of  the  suitors, 
into  the  fabric  of  a  properly-knit  play  ;  1  with 
what  measure  of  success  it  must  be  for  readers 
and   playgoers  to  decide. 

For  the  rest,  the  scholar  will  have  found  in 
the  foregoing  scenes  some  things  strictly  accord- 
ing to  Homer,  and  some  loosely  so  :  but  others 
not  according  to  him  at  all,  as  for  instance  the 
stay  with  Calypso  made  to  precede  the  descent 
among  the  dead  instead  of  following  it ;  Calypso 
herself  endowed  with  some  of  the   attributes  of 


UL  YSSES  177 

Circe  ;  Hermes,  the  chartered  escort  of  the  dead, 
given  as  a  guide  to  Ulysses  through  Hades ; 
Hades  itself  conceived  on  lines  which  are  Vir- 
gilian  rather  than  Homeric  ;  the  action  at  the 
swineherd's  hut,  and  that  in  the  palace  at 
Ithaca  afterwards,  re-arranged,  re-imagined,  and 
above  all  unsparingly  accelerated  and  cut  down. 
In  the  author's  mind  all  these  liberties  were  an 
essential  part  of  his  dramatic  scheme  ;  nor  can  the 
need  for  similar  liberties  be  well  escaped  by  any 
practical  playwright  who  chooses  to  work  upon 
materials  supplied  either  by  history  or  by  epic. 
As  to  the  material  presentment  of  the  play, 
my  warmest  thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Tree  for  an 
enthusiasm  and  a  generosity  which  have  admitted 
no  obstacle  in  the  attempt  to  realise  on  the 
stage  the  best  conjectural  picture  of  the  Homeric 
world  which   could  be  devised.     The   attempt  is 

M 


178  ULYSSES 

new,  and  the  result  is  a  spectacle  richer,  more 
barbaric,  many-coloured,  and  full  of  fantasy  than 
could  have  been  obtained  by  adopting  the  con- 
ventional classical  costumes  and  familiar  building 
styles  of  later  Greece.  The  architecture  and  its 
decoration,  designed  by  Mr.  W.  R.  Lethaby, 
have  been  based  on  recent  discoveries  of  the 
Mycenaean  age.  For  the  dresses  (since  the  Myce- 
naean costume,  so  far  as  it  is  known  to  us,  would 
be  ill  suited  to  the  stage)  Mr.  Percy  Anderson 
has  gone  back  to  the  very  earliest  Greek  sculp- 
ture, and  to  vases  of  the  sixth  and  seventh  cen- 
turies B.C.  Both  these  gentlemen,  as  well  as  the 
author  and  manager  and  their  valued  helper 
Mr.  Lionel  Hart,  have  been  greatly  aided  in 
their  work  by  the  zeal  and  learning  of  Dr.  A.  S. 
Murray,  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin,  and  other  friendly 
authorities   of  the    British    Museum.  ^   p 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


THE   SIN   OF   DAVID 

BY 

STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 


ACT   I 


CHARACTERS 


Sir  Hubert  Lisle. 
Hubert, 

Colonel  Mardyke, 

Cotton, 

Finch, 

Marsh, 

Crablove, 

Iron, 

Joyce, 

A  Doctor. 

Ratcliffe, 

Miriam, 
Martha, 


i  Commander  of  the  Parliamentary 
forces  171  the  Fenla?id. 

{The  child  of  Lisle  and  Miriam  in 
Act  III. 

Of  the  Parliamentary  army,  owner 
of  Rushland,  the  headquarters 
of  the  army. 


Officers     of    the     Parliamentary 
army. 


A  lieutenant. 


{Servant  of  Mardyke ;     afterward 
of  Lisle. 

ill'ife  of  Mardyke ;    afterward  of 
Lisle. 


Sister  of  Mardyke. 
Officers,  Nurses,  Soldiers,  etc. 


The  period  of  the  play  is  that  of  the  English  Civil  War  between 
Charles  I  and  the  Parliament. 


THE 
SIN    OF    DAVID 

ACT   I 

Time.  —  Summer  of  1643,  the  first  year  of 
the  war:    noontide. 

Scene.  —  Hall  of  Rnshland  House,  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Puritan  army  in  the  Fen- 
lands.  On  the  left  a  flight  of  steps  leading 
up  to  a  turret-chamber.  A  door  on  either 
side,  on  the  right  eonnnunicating  outward, 
on  the  left  imvard.  Ai  the  back,  a  door 
flanked  by   recessed  windoivs   opens   on   a 

terrace  beyond,  with  foliage  of  poplars  and 
9 


lO  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

alders,  and  a  distajit  view  of  the  Fens. 
Various  military  officers  are  standing  in 
silence,  with  bowed  heads  and  folded  hands, 
as  in  prayer,  around  a  table  covered  with 
papers.  Mardyke  stands  at  the  head  of 
the  table. 

Mardyke.  \_After  a  pause.']  Now,  sirs, 
that  we  have  sought  the  Lord  in  prayer, 

Each  one  in  silence,  will  we  hear  and 
judge, 

Knowing  ourselves  His  mortal  instruments. 

All  we  with  clean  hearts  unto  judgment 
come; 

Yet  in  Thy  sight  no  human  heart  is  clean ; 

And  if  we  punish  others,  we  ourselves 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  1 1 

Are  ready  to  abide  Thy  punishment. 

\^Thcy  sloivly  seat  tJicmselves. 
Read,    Captain!       Who     is     charged     with 

mutiny, 
With    plunder   or   with    harryings    or    with 

flame, 
Making  God's  army  of  the  Fenland  mocked, 
A  hissing  and  abomination,  yea, 
A  laughter  sweet  unto  the  PhiHstine, 
And  all  our  fire,  our  kindling,  and  our  zeal, 
As    ashes    fallen,  and    as    the    greyness    of 

ashes  ? 
Read! 

Cotton.    \_Rising  with  papers  in  his  hand.'] 
There  is  nothing  here  of  mutiny. 
Nor  here  is  any  charged  with  drunken  rage, 


12  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

With    plunder    or    with    harryings    or    with 

flame, 
To    make     God's     army    of     the    Fenland 

mocked. 
But  one  among  us  is  of  carnal  crime 
Loudly   accused :    'tis  charged  against   him 

here 
That  he  by  violence  hath  a  maid  undone. 

[^Murmurs. 
His   name  Lieutenant  Joyce  :    who    on  this 

cry 
Arrested  and  close-guarded  waits  without. 
Finch.     Is    this    already  pubHc    in  men's 

mouths, 
So  noised  we  cannot  overpass  it,  sir.? 
If  not,  'twere  well  to  mingle  poHcy 


THE   SLY   OF  DAVID  13 

With  zeal,  and  hush  it  for  the  larger  good. 
Marsh.     Publish  it  not,  lest  we  be  pointed 
at. 
Such   is    our   cause   a   little   smirch    undoes 

it, 

By  its  own  virtue  the  more  vulnerable : 
Greatness  hath  often  by  a  whisper  crashed. 
Cotton.     The    thing    is    public    and    the 

wayside  talk ; 
The    clucking   housewife    hath    it,    and   the 

crone 
Mumbles  it  sitting  half-out  in  the  sun. 
Mardyke.     PubUc    or    no,    I    palter    not 

with   heaven. 
The  sin  is  sinned ;    and  if  we  punish  not, 
Then  stand  we  here  partakers  of  the  sin. 


14  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Crablove.     Doth  Joyce  deny  this?      Let 
us  hear  him  speak. 
[Mardyke  motions  to  bring  in  Joyce. 
Cotton.      Freely  he   hath   confessed  and 
bides  the  issue. 

Enter  Joyce,  giiarded 
Mardyke.     Lieutenant,  publicly  you  stand 
accused 
Of  a   young  maid's  enforcement:  what  say 

you 
In  answer? 
Joyce.  I  make  answer,  "  It  is  true." 

Mardyke.      None    here     can     come    be- 
tween thee  and  thy  God. 
Yet  in  mid-madness  didst  thou  not  recall 
That  thou  wert  more  than  Joyce :  an  officer 


THE  SIX  OF  DAVID  15 

In    this    our    righteous   warring;    that    you 

brought 
This  holy  host  into  derision?     Speak, 
Joyce.     Her   face  was    close    to    me,  and 

dimmed  the  world. 
Yet  have  I  fought,  and  in  the  front  of  all. 
Shall    one    mad    moment    all    those    hours 

outweigh } 
Who  being  human  is  for  ever  sure  .'* 

Mardyke.     \_Rising.']    God  needs  not  thy 

polluted  arm  henceforth. 
He  asks  not  Captain,    no,    nor  man-at-arms 
Of  heart  unclean :    thou  shalt  not  fight  for 

Him. 
Take  him  away !   thy  punishment  with   us. 
\_Exit  Joyce,  guarded. 


l6  THE   SIN   OF  DAVID 

Now,  sirs,  he   hath    confessed,  his  sentence 

Ues 
With  us. 

Finch.     You,  sir,  who  fought   with    Eng- 

Hsh  Vere 
At  Heidelberg,  at  Mannheim  and  Ostend, 
Where'er  the  persecuted  faithful  fell. 
Whose  fame  still  clings   about  the  vines  of 

France, 
How  dealt  ye    in    those   camps  with  carnal 

crime  ? 
Mardyke.     Our   cause,  as   now,  required 

our  spotlessness, 
And  we  on  grave  occasion  visited 
Such  sin  with  death  ! 

Enter  Ratcliffe,  zvitJi  letter 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  17 

Ratcliffe.  a  letter,  sir,  post-haste. 

Mardyke.       \_After   glancing    at     letter^ 

Summon   your   mistress   and   my   sister 

here. 

\_Exit  Ratcliffe. 

This  letter,  sirs,  concerns  us  all  —  I'll 
read. 
"  I,  Sir  Hubert  Lisle,  being  appointed  by 
the  Parliament  to  the  command  of  their 
levies  in  the  Fenland,  where,  as  I  hear, 
there  is  much  need  of  enkindling,  do  pro- 
pose, by  your  leave,  to  make  Rushland 
House  my  headquarters.  I  know  that  your 
zeal  will  not  refuse  me  this  if  it  be  any 
way  possible ;  but  I  pray  you  excuse  me 
to  your  lady  for   so  sudden  demand  on  her 


B 


1 8  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

kindness.  I  follow  hard  on  this  letter,  and 
am  minded  to  stir  up  such  a  fire  in  this 
region  as  shall  not  easily  be  put  out. 

"  Hubert  Lisle." 
\_Aniinated  murmurs. 
Sirs,   with    my    wife   I    must    have   speech 

forthwith, 
And  make  such  preparation  as  I  may. 

\TJie  officers  retire  in  eager  dis- 
cussion on  to  the  terrace  at  back, 
and  from  time  to  time  they  are 
visible  conversing  together  during 
the  scene  which  follows.  Mean- 
while Miriam  and  Martha 
enter.  Miriam  stands  submis- 
sively before  Mardyke,  who,  intent 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  19 

Oil    letter,  does  not   observe   her  for 
a  moment. 
Mistress,   you   must   prepare,  and  instantly, 
For  entertainment  of  Sir  Hubert  Lisle, 
Sent  hither  to  command  our  Fenland    host. 
Learn  then  what  manner  of  man  is  he  who 

comes ; 
One     sprung      to     arms      from      England's 

chivalry. 
Despising  lure  of  courtier  or  of  priest, 
To  fight  the  fight  of  freedom  and  of  God : 
In  foreign  battle  nursed,  yet  not  as  we, 
Stricken    and    bowed,    but    in    his    flush    of 

strength  ; 
Quickly  provide,  then  !     Stand  thou   by  his 

chair 


20  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

And  bring  with   thine   own    hands   the    cup 

of  welcome : 
See    he    lack    nought    thou    canst    bestow. 

But  hither!  \_She  turns  to  go. 

Miriam !  heed  well  that  you  displease  him  not 
By  silly  gaud  on  bosom  or  in  hair, 
Lest  he  account   thee   light,  a   daughter   of 

Gath. 
I'll    strip    this     chain     from     thee ;     these 

wanton  beads, 
Meshes  of  Satan,  grind  I  into  dust. 

\_He  snatches    chain    roughly  from    her 
and  tramples  it  under  foot. 
You,  Martha,  with  a  graver   thought   assist 
My  wife.     Receive  this   guest   as  from   the 

Lord !  {Exit  Mardyke 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  2i 

Miriam.      \Treinbli>ig.']     Am  I  not  as  that 

chain,  trod  underfoot, 

Chidden  and  checked  even  more  than  when 

a  child  ? 

Martha.     My  brother  sternly  broods,  but 

loves  you  still. 
Miriam.     Why,  Martha,  why  could  I  not 
ever  stay 
His  daughter  1     So  my  dying  father  left  me, 
When    side    by    side    they    fought    at    La 

Rochelle ; 
And  as  his  daughter  grew  I  up  submiss ; 
Why  must  he  then  make  me  his  wife? 

Martha.  Perchance 

To     shelter    you,    and     comfort     his    grey 
heart. 


22  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Miriam.     I  am  no  wife  to  him ;   and  the 

waked  woman 
Within    me    cries    against    the     yoke    and 

loathes  it. 
Martha.     Why  to  so  loathed  a  marriage 

did  you  yield } 
Miriam.       How    could    my    orphanhood 

withstand  his  will  .-* 
Did  I  not  owe  him  all,  refuge  and  bread, 
And  sheltering  sustenance .''     Could    I   take 

all, 
And  then  refuse  that  petty  price  "  myself," 
Sole    price   which    he   who    gave    so    much 

required  .■* 
Well  I    have  paid   to  the  full  !     He  starves 

my  soul, 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  23 

He    locks    my    spirit    up    and     keeps     the 
key. 
Martha.     Say  not  there  is  some  other  — 
Miriam.         No  one.     No. 
My  misery  is  faithful  to  him. 

Martha.  Child, 

What    is't    you    sigh    for,    whither     would 

you  fly  .'' 
I  cannot  understand. 

Miriam.  Nor  I  myself; 

And  'tis  the  very  blindness  of  this  beating 
That  makes  of   me  a  creature  so  unhappy, 
And   unto   thee   a   plague. 

Martha.  Never,  my  child. 

Miriam.      O    thou    dear    Martha,    living 
without  sin. 


24  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

And   reputably   rusting   to    the   grave, 
Thou     vacant     house      moated     about     by 

peace, 
Thou   shadow   perfect,   and   thou   blameless 

ghost, 
I    cannot   feed   my   soul    on    "  Thou    shalt 

not." 
I'll   fight   'gainst   numbness,  wrestle  against 

rust. 
There's  the   arch-foe   of   women !   this   doth 

kill  us. 
Not   pain,    nor   secret    arrow    of    the    mid- 
night 
That     quivers     till    the     bird-song,     ended 

faith, 
Mortal  surprise   of   marriage,  nor  the  dawn 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  2$ 

Of  golden-vista'd  children  clouded  quite, 
Nor  fallen  loneliness  where  love  hath  been. 
These,  these  are  understood,  wept  o'er  and 

sung. 
But   worse,    ah,   worse   the    folding    of   the 

hands, 
The   human    face    left   by  the   tide   of    life, 
The    worm    already    at    the    human    heart. 
Martha.     Sooner   the    worm    than    guilt 

within  the  heart. 
Miriam.     No  !  I  would  rather  drench  my 

soul  in  sin 
So    I    might    feel    this    fire   and    grip    this 

glory. 
The   colour  and   the   bloom  and   the  music 

of  life  ! 


26  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Martha.     Miriam  !  no  more  I'll  listen  to 
you.     Know 
That    He    who   gave    us    life    ordained    us 
law. 
Miriam.     Law  !     And  is  law  then  but  to 
bind  and  freeze  .-' 
By  law  the  lightning  spurts,  and  the  earth 

quakes, 
And  the  spring  surges  thro'  a  million  buds ; 
And    law    is  filled  with   rushings   and    with 
thunder. 
Martha.     You    must    endure.     Thy    an- 
cestors and  mine 
Went  for  their  faith  to  torment  and  to  fire. 
Miriam.     Ah,    for   their    faith !     I    hope 
my  blood  is  theirs. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  27 

And    I    would    splash   the  flames  about  my 

head 
Gladly  as  in  a  bath  for  splendid  death, 
But  for  this  life  no  life  I  was  not  born. 
Martha.     When    there     shall     come     a 

child  — 
Miriam.  Ah,  speak  it  not! 

A  child  of  him  !     I  sicken,  I  quake  at  it ; 
My  very  flesh  doth  shiver.     Think  you  I 
Could  squander  upon  any  child  of  him 
The  brooding  balm  and  wistful  riches,  all 
The  holy  longing  that  on  summer  evens 
Arises  homeless  in  my  silent  heart } 
Babes    that   we    love,  we    must   have   loved 
ere  birth. 
[Ratcliffe  enters  behind  and  beckons  to 


28  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

the  officers  outside.  As  he  passes 
Miriam,  he  picks  up  chain  and 
gives  it  her.  She  gives  him  her 
hand,  zvhich  he  kisses.  She  smiles 
sadly   on   him.       He  goes   out. 

Martha.     See,  they  return.     Come,  then. 

Give  me  the  keys  ! 
Miriam.     Ah  !    might   this  tumult  find  at 

last  a  goal ! 

\Exeunt  Martha  a7td  Miriam. 

Reenter  slowly  military  officers,  who  seat 
themselves  at  the  table.  Lastly  enter 
Mardyke.     He  sits  at  the  head 

Mardyke.     Do  Thou,  O    Lord,  direct  a- 
right  our  minds, 


THE   SIN   OF  DAVID  29 

And  our  decision  be  unto  Thy  glory ! 
Your  judgment,  sirs,  upon  Lieutenant  Joyce ! 
Shall  we  but  cast  him  from  us  as  unclean? 
Or  shall  we  punish  carnal  crime  with  death  ? 
Finch.     Purge  we   our   army  of    the   sin- 
ner ;   yet 
See  we  deter  not  by  too  fierce  a  doom 
Others  that  waver  still  from    taking    sword. 
Iron.     If    outrage    be    not    punished   the 
whole  land 
Rising  in  wrath  against  us  will  take  sword. 
Cotton.     My  voice  also  for  death;  when 
war  begins, 
Mercy  at  first  is  cruelty  at  last. 

Marsh.     Break    him,    but    leave    him    lei 
sure  to  repent. 


30  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Crablove.     Enough  we  cast  him  straight- 
way from  among  us. 
Mardyke.     For    death    my    voice ;     else 
every  one  of  us 
Will  into  holy  battle  go  unclean. 

Finch.     \_Rising.~\     The  vote  is  even! 
Marsh.  What  shall  now  decide  t 

\Tr7impet  heard. 
Enter  Ratcliffe,  hurriedly 
Ratcliffe.     Sir  Hubert  Lisle,  sir,  ridden 

furiously. 
Mardyke.      {Rising^      Lisle,    our     com- 
mander :    his  the  casting  vote. 

\_TJiey  all  rise. 
Finch.     On    him    alone    the    burden   and 
the  issue. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  3' 

Enter    Lisle,   spurred,    and   spattered    with 
mud.     Mardyke    advancing,  Lisle    takes 
him   by  the   hand,  and  they  stand  looking 
at  each  other  for  an  instant 
Lisle.     God    save    you,    sirs,    what    busi- 
ness of  the  camp 
Presses;  what  labour  from  the  Lord  awaits 
me? 
Mardyke.     \^Motioning  Lisle   to  head  of 
table.']       This      on     the    instant    then: 
Lieutenant  Joyce, 
Of    this    God's    army,  charged   with    carnal 

crime 
In  that  he  hath  enforced  the  innocent 
And    brought    a    young    maid    into    public 
shame. 


32  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

This    he    denies    not.      Now  Jhree    voices 

here 
Cry  that  we  purge  this  holy  host  of  him, 
So  satisfied  ;   and  three  that  he  shall  die. 
With    thee    the    casting    vote.      The    Lord 
speak  through  thee. 
Lisle.     \^Rising.'\     Sirs,    in    no    common 
quarrel  are  we  up, 
Nor  to  a  slight  fray  have  we  girded  us. 
But  are  embattled  for  dear  liberty, 
Dear  liberty  to  righteousness  affianced, 
That  each  man    on    our  English  soil  hence- 
forth 
Shall  live  his  own  life  out  beneath  the  sun, 
Master    of    his    own    conscience,    his    own 
soul. 


THE   SIN   OF  DA  VID  33 

And  answerable  only  to  his  God : 
For  this  and  no  less  thing  rise  we  in  arms. 
For  this  the  noble  hath  disdained  his  ease, 
For  this  the  gentleman  forsworn  his  hearth, 
For    this    the    yeoman    left    his    glebe    un- 

ploughed. 
For    this    doth    brother    clash  with   brother, 

friend 
With  friend,    and    father    smiteth    his    own 

son  : 
For    this    have   we    preferred,    rather    than 

reap 
A  servile  tilth,  to  trample  the  sown  field 
And  springing  pasture  to  incarnadine. 
But    vain    the    father's    and    the    brother's 

blood, 
c 


34  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Pasture  ensanguined  and  abandoned  hearth, 
And  worse  than  vain  our  Hberty  at  last, 
If  we  have  builded  it  with  hands  defiled. 

\Miirtmirs  of  admiration. 
Therefore  I  show  no  mercy  on  this  man. 
Death  !     Let  him  die. 

Mardyke.     Bring  in  Lieutenant  Joyce. 

Enter  Joyce,  guarded 
Lisle.     Lieutenant,  for   the  sake  of   that 
high  cause 
For   which    we    are    embattled,   and   which 

thou 
Hast    stained,     I    sentence    thee    forthwith 
to  death. 
Joyce.     Death ! 
Lisle.     To  a  soldier  'tis  a  little  thing. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  35 

Joyce.     I  do  not  count  death  as    a   little 
thing. 
I  cannot  go*  out  of  the  warm  sunshine 
Easily ;    yet  I  am  a  gentleman 
And  I  can  die. 

Lisle.  Hast  anything  to  say } 

Joyce.     Thou  who  so  Hghtly  dealest  death 
to  me, 
Be  thou  then  very  sure  of  thine  own  soul ! 
Lisle.     I  fear   not   that ;    and    less   do    I 
fear  death. 

[Lisle  dismisses  Joyce   and  gjiards. 
\_Drawtng  his  sword. '\     And  judge  me,  Thou 

that  sittest  in  Thy  heaven, 
As    I    have    shown    no     mercy,    show    me 
none  ! 


36  THE  SIN   OF  DAVID 

Deal  Thou  to  me  what  I  have  dealt  to  him. 
Nay,  more ;    not    the    mere    death    that    he 

shall  die, 
Strike    at    the    heart,    the    hope,  the    home 

of  me. 
If  ever  a  woman's  beauty  shall  ensnare 
My  soul  unto  such  sin  as  he  hath  sinned. 
[Miriam    has    entered    with   wine   and 
stands  waiting.    Lisle,  lowering  his 
sword,   sees    her    before    him    and 
stands  motionless. 
Mardyke.     Sir    Hubert    Lisle,    my   wife ! 
To  her  I  leave  you. 
\Exit    Mardyke    and    others.     Miriam 
pours  out   wine  and  proffers  Lisle 
the  cup. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D  37 

Lisle.     \_Taking    cup.'\      Lady,    I    thank 
you,    and  must  ask  your  pardon 
For  breaking  in  on  you  so  suddenly 
And  so  disordered  —  I  would  say  —  but  you. 
You  are  not  of  our  country  ? 

Miriam.  No,  of  France, 

And    I    was    born   in    the    sun's    lap  —  will 

you 
Not  rest  awhile .'' 

\_SJie  moves  as  if  to  conduct  him. 
Lisle.     {^Hcsitating.^^     You    are    then    of 
■   that  land 
Where  flows  the  crimson  wine  that  now  1 

drink  ? 
Is't  not  so  ? 

Miriam.        Even  so. 


38  THE   SIN   OF  DAVID 

Lisle.      \^Holding  up  the  wine.~\     And  in 

such  glory- 
Have  you   fared  hither  to  us  over  sea. 
Miriam.      Will    you    not    rest  1     [Again 

movmg.  ] 
Lisle.     \_Going,  then  again  /iesitating.'\     I 

thank  you. 
Miriam.  •    See  —  this  way. 

Lisle.     And  you  —  how  long  since   is   it 

that  you  left 
Your  southern  vines  .? 

Miriam.  I  came  here  as  a  child ; 

My  father  died  at  La  Rochelle. 

Lisle.  Alas ! 

Miriam.       Committing     me     to     Colonel 

Mardyke's  care, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  39 

Who  was  his  comrade  then. 

Lisle,  And  who  is  now 

Your  husband  ? 

Miriam.  Yes.     Your  room,  sir, 

eastward  lies. 
Lisle.      I    will     come     with    you  —  and 
these  glimmering  fens, 
Do  they  not  pall  after  the  southern   glow  } 
Miriam.     I  am  grown  used  to  them. 
Lisle.  And  yet  it  seems 

Strange    in    the   drear    fenland   to    light    on 
you. 
Miriam.     How    still   the   air   is :    scarcely 
can  one  breathe. 
A    storm    approaches  —  \_Hesitating7\      Will 
this  war  soon  end  ? 


40  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Lisle.        Not    till     we    triumph  —  or  — 
darker  it  grows. 
This    leads    us    to   the   garden  ?      See   how 

still 
That     poplar,     conscious     of     some     heavy 

fate! 
That    breathless     alder !       Like    to    guilty 

souls 
Against  a  coming  judgment. 

Miriam.      \_Hesitating.']      Is   there    aught 
Wherein  I  still  can  serve  you .'' 

Lisle.      \_Coming    toivard   her.'\      No,    I 

thank  you. 
Miriam.       I     have     made     all     ready  — ■ 

\_Hesitates.~\ 
Lisle.  Every  bird  doth  cower. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  41 

Miriam,     \Going,  but  returning.~\      I  have 
laid    some    books    within    your   room  — 
you  read 
Much  —  so  they  say  —  I  thought  —  how  the 

air  faints 
As      though      beneath      some      suffocating 
clutch ! 
Lisle.     Darker   and    darker    yet  —  what 
books  are  dear 
To  you  ? 

Miriam.     Old  histories. 
Lisle.  That  mandolin  — 

You  touch  it  in  the  twilight .-' 

Miriam.  Not  with  art. 

How   the   air   sighed   then !     Nearer   comes 
the  storm  j 


42  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

A    moment    and    '  twill     break     above    our 
heads. 
Lisle.      \Coming    dose    to    her.']     Sweet 
after  battle  must  thy  music  be. 
\_A    sudden    sound   of   musketry   heard 
without. 
Miriam.     What    sound    was    that.-*     That 

was  no  thunder-peal. 
Lisle.     Lieutenant  Joyce    of    this    God's 
army,  shot 
By  my  command  ! 

Miriam.  What    crime    hath    he 

committed 
That  you  take  on  you  God's  prerogative 
Of  death  } 

Lisle.     How  can  I  name  it  to  you !    He 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  43 

Hath  sinned  against  a  maid. 

Miriam.  But  such  a  doom  ! 

Lisle.     No    doom    too    harsh  !      In    this 
our  virgin  cause 
We  of  that  sin  must  purify  us  —  thus. 

[Lisle  boivs  to  Miriam,  zvJio  goes  off 
sloivly  and  trembling.  Lisle 
starts  to  folhnv  her,  but  controls 
himself  ivitJi  effort.  He  goes 
slowly  to  back,  and  as  he  s tabids 
looking  out,  a  low  mutter  of 
thunder    is     heard. 


ACT   II 


ACT   II 

Time.  —  Three  zveeks  later:   night. 

Scene,  —  The  same  as  Act  I.  Miriam  and 
Martha  discovered,  Miriam  touching  man- 
dolin absently.  Martha  at  work  on  em- 
broidery, a  lamp  beside  her. 

Miriam.     {_Sings.'\ 

I 

Red  skies  above  a  level  land 

And  thoughts  of  thee ; 

Sinking  sun  on  reedy  strand, 

And  alder  tree. 
47 


48  THE   SIN  UF  DAVID 

II 

Only  the  heron  sailing  home, 

With  heavy  flight: 
Ocean  afar  in  silent  foam, 
And  coming  night. 
Ill 
Dwindling  day  and  drowsing  birds, 

O  my  child ! 
Dimness  and  returning  herds, 
Memory  wild. 
Martha.     What  sorrow   of  the  gloaming 

dost  thou  sing  .-' 
Miriam.     Of    some    bereaved    woman    in 
the  Fens. 

\Casti71g  aside   instrument   and  coining 
over  to  Martha. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D  49 

O  Martha  ! 

Martha.     Well,    child  —  will     you     help 
me  here  ? 
These  eyes  begin  to  fail  in  lamp-light  now. 

Miriam.        {^Kneeling      by      ker.']       Dear 
Martha ! 

Martha.      Ah  !  just  here  I  cannot  —  well, 
Weary  of  music  ^ 

Miriam.  Let  me  lay  my  head 

Here  in  thy  lap  as  in  the  olden  days 
Then  when  I  was  a  child. 

Martha.  You'd  have  me  idle 

As  you  are,  —  there,  then  ! 

\Taking  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Miriam.  Was  I  a  bad  child, 

Martha } 


so  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Martha.  Ah,  no  !  but  headlong  ever  and 

rash. 
Miriam.    Cruel.'' 
Martha.    Not  with  intention. 
Miriam.  Ah,  but  still 

Of  others  too  regardless } 

Martha.  As  a  child  is. 

Miriam.    I    am   so    happy;    let    me   hide 
my  face 
Here. 

Martha.    If    so    happy,    child,    why    so 

afraid } 
Miriam.    No  !  not  afraid. 
Martha.   I  am  glad  that  you  are  happy, 
That  shows  me  you  are  humbler,  that  your 
heart 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  51 

Is  tamed ;  thence  only  cometh  happiness. 
Miriam.   \_Looking  uj>.']    I  am  not  tamed ! 
Martha.        Well  —  more  at  rest  then. 
Miriam.  Rest ! 

Martha.    Now    you    are    weeping.      Who 

shall  guess  your  soul, 
Miriam  .-•      So    happy    now,    and    now    wild 

tears. 
Miriam.    You    know,  you   know,  I    would 

not  hurt  you,  no, 
Nor  —  him,  not  willingly — never  was  cruel. 
Martha.    You    say   you    would    not    hurt 

me  nor  — 
Miriam.  Your   brother. 

Martha.    Your   husband. 
Miriam.    No  —  not  willingly  —  and  yet  — 


52  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Martha.    What  would  you  say  ? 
Miriam.  Nothing.     I  know  not   what. 

\^She    again    takes    up    mandolin,    then 
casts  it  down,  coming  to    Martha 
again. 
Martha,    dear    Martha,    why    are    you    not 
kind? 
Martha.  Kind  !  you  to  say  I  am  not  kind. 
Miriam.    O,  kind  — 
But — but  you  love  me  deeply,  do  you  not.'' 
Martha.    What  need  to  ask  .■" 
Miriam.  Whate'er  I  did,  me,  me 

You  love  ? 

Martha.    I    fear    so ;    but    you    will    do 
nothing 
I  could  not  also  love. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  53 

Miriam.  I  cannot  tell. 

{Then  suddenly. 1  Come,  give  me  both  your 

hands.     I  hold  you  fast  — 
You  cannot  fly  —  look  not  on  me.       I  fear, 
I  fear  to  be  alone  with  him  —  the  stranger, 
Within  our   gates  —  cast   me   not   from  you 

yet! 
Martha.     {Rising.']    If   this   be   true,    it 

is   a   deadly   sin ! 
The    blackest  —  to    your    knees    and    seek 

your    God. 
But  I'll  not  think  it,  cannot  imagine,  dream 

it. 
'Tis  folly,  the    fruit    of    too    much    idleness. 
But   hearken,    Miriam!    though    it    be    but 

folly, 


54  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

It    must    be    plucked    from    out    you,    flung 

away, 
Else  I  will  seek  my  brother  out,  I  am 
His  faithful   friend  —  but   'tis   unthinkable  ! 

Enter  Mardyke,  hurriedly,  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand,  accompanied  by  Ratcliffe 

Mardyke.      [To    Ratcliffe.]      Summon 
the  council  hither,  on  the  instant ! 

\_Exit  Ratcliffe. 
{Turning    to    Miriam.]       Idle  —  still    idle! 

and  in  time  of  war! 
A    night    of     peril!    yet    the    strings     are 

heard. 
Mistress,    bestir    you !     To   your  household 
tasks, 


THE   SIN   OF  DAVID  55 

And    make    this    dwelling    ready    for     the 

night ! 
And  then  to  bed  !  else  will  I  lock  you  up  : 
Provide  you  bread  to  eat,  water  to  drink, 
I'll  starve  this  fiend  of  indolence  out  of  you. 
Martha.     Brother,  you  speak  not  wisely. 

Mardyke.  Ah,  do  you 

Sustain  her.-* 

Martha.     'Tis  not  wise  to  use  her  thus; 
I  tell    you,   'tis    not    wise ;    such    roughness 

makes 
All  women  desperate. 

Mardyke.  Wisdom  from  women  ! 

Martha.     You  would  not  have  your  way 
'  with  me  thus  —  nor 
Will  you  with  her  —  your  wife. 


56  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Mardyke.  Leave  us  together. 

\_Exit  Martha. 
That    which    I    spoke,    I    spoke    it    not    in 

jest. 
I    who    have    warred,  and    still   do   war   for 

God, 
Will  keep  a  diligent  wife,  a  quiet  house, 
Still   and    severe    as    fits    our  sacred  cause. 
You  hear  me  .-* 

Miriam.      Sir,     you     hurt     my     wrist  — 

forbear. 
Mardyke.     Remember !     To  your   duties 
—  then  to  bed! 

\_Exit  Miriam. 
Meanwhile  the  officers  enter 
How  long,  sirs,  must  we  tarry  idle  here  .-• 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  57 

On   all  sides  are  we  hemmed;  where   shall 
we  strike  ? 
Iron.     Where  is  Sir  Hubert  Lisle? 
Mardyke.  Shut  in  his  room. 

Iron.     The  peril  gathers,  yet  that  vacant 

chair  ! 

\_Murmurs  from  officers. 

Sirs,  I  will  speak  no  treason,  yet  we  marvel 
Why  thus  we  are  hemmed  in  idle.     I  will 

voice 
The  general  fear;   he  who  should  lead  us, 

faints. 

\Mtirmnrs  of  assent. 

Who   captains    us?     One,    dazed    and    dubi- 
ous. 
Sir  Hubert  Lisle  is  fallen  into  a  trance. 


S8  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

What    purpose    hath     he,     what     direction, 
torn 

This    way    and     that,    hither     and     thither 
blown  ? 

Now     he     commands,     anon     he     counter- 
mands ; 

Now  is  he  hot  for  battle,  now  he  cools, 

This  man,  who  fell  amidst  us  like  a  brand. 

And  all  the  night  he  paces  to  and  fro. 

Murmuring     and     wrestling     as     with     one 
unseen. 

What    curse    lies    heavy    on    him,    or    what 
spell  ? 

Now    let     him     wake,    or    be    some    other 
chosen. 

\_Murmurs. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  59 

Mardyke.     Lift  we  a  prayer  that  heaven 

restore  his  mind. 
Iron.      Yet,    while   we    pray,    is    Rupert 
thundering  down. 
Enter  Lisle,    dreamily,    with    roses   in  his 
dress 
Lisle.      Forgive,    I    pray    you,    sirs,    this 
tardiness. 
Sirs,  you  all  frown  on  me  and  stare  distrust. 
I  have  fallen  into  a  lethargy  of  spirit 
Which     even     now     is     passing    from    me. 

Friends, 
Let  me  not  lose  your  faith. 

Mardyke.  Sir,  we  but  ask 

Some  guiding   from  you,  and  some  certain 
light. 


6d  ■  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Darker    our    fortunes    grow,    on    all    sides 

pressed, 
And   threatened    north    and   west.      Where 
shall  we  strike  ? 
Iron.     I  say,  take   water   northward  and 
relieve 
Fairfax  in   Hull. 

Mardyke.  Or  threaten  suddenly 

Newark,  where  now    are   horsemen   swarm- 
ing thick 
Upon  our  flank. 

Crablove.  And,  sir,  still  Willoughby 

In  vain  beleaguers  Castle  Bolingbroke. 
Mardyke.     Quick  flies  the  night.     Shall 
we  aid  Willoughby .'' 
Or  hurl  a  force  on   Newark,  or  free  Hull } 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  6i 

Lisle.      {^Hesitatingly?^      To  me  it  seems 
'twere  wiser  here  to  bide, 

•  \_M?trmHrs. 

Holding  the  Whitton  and  the  Welland  line, 
Breaking   the   foe   with    bog   and   with    mo- 
rass ; 
Here  let  us  lie,  alert,  but  not  o'er-hot. 
We  have  much  need  of  discipline  severe, 
Patience  and  quiet  rule  and  still  debate. 
Till  each  man  shall  attain  self-mastery. 
Now  leave  me,  sirs ;  for  I  must  meditate. 
And  wrestle  in  spirit  lest  I  be  o'ercome. 
\_Excu7it    officers,  sullenly  shaking   their 
heads. 
Mardyke.      \^Rising.'\     I    will    go    up    to 
the  turret-room,  and  mark 


62  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

If,   in    God's   book,    some   chapter   or   some 

verse 
May  give  us  warning  in  our  present  need. 
[Mardyke,  unlocking  case,  takes   down 
Bible,   and  ascends    to    tower   with 
lighted  candle.     Lisle  sits  plunged 
in   gloomy   revery   and  studying  a 
map    distractedly.      Miriam   passes 
across     the     stage    hurriedly,    with 
keys  at   her  girdle.     Lisle,   seeing 
her,    comes  fof'ward. 
Lisle.     Lady,   will    you    not    touch    the 
strings  again } 
With  music  lift  from  me  this  heaviness } 
Miriam.     I    may  not,  sir.     I    am  accused 
of  sloth. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  63 

And  must  about  the  business  of  the  house. 
Here  are  my  keys. 

Lisle.      \^Seeing    her    wrist-l      See,    you 

have  hurt  your  wrist. 
Miriam.     'Tis  nothing. 
Lisle.     But  'tis  bruised  as  by  a  blow ! 
Miriam  !  —  my  heart  spoke  then.     This  burn- 
ing silence, 
Secret  eye  lightnings,  and  deep  mutual  sighs, 
And  darting  comprehensions  of  swift  thought. 
Must  break  in  words  at  last. 

Miriam.     \Tremhling.'\     I    will    not    hear 

them. 
Lisle.     Hear    them !    and    then    do   with 
me  what  you  will. 
When  I  spurred  hither,  all  on  fire  for  God, 


64  THE  SIN   OF  DAVID 

Then  did  I  gallop  into  human  flame. 

Cold  I  had  lived,  pure,  narrow,  temperate, 

A  girded  swordsman  pressing  to  the  mark. 

So  rode  I  through  that  gate.  Then  sud- 
denly 

Thy  beauty  like  a  tempest  fell  on  me ; 

And  in  one  moment  was  I  rent  and  riven. 

Stunned  is  my  life  ;    I  wander,  and  I  grope. 

My  voice  in  the  council  falters  ;    in  mid-act 

This  lifted  arm  falls  at  thy  floating  face. 

They  waver  like  to  mist  the  ranks  of  war, 

They  waver  and  fade ;  he  fades,  the  armed 
man, 

And  spurring  armies  in  a  vision  clash. 

Or  would  I  pray  and  upward  fling  my 
hands } 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VJD  65 

To   thee    I    pray,  thee,  thee,  with    cries  be- 
seeching. 

I  am  lost,  lost ! 

Miriam.  O,  I  would  be  to  thee 

As  gentle  as  the  grass  above  the  dead ; 

And    have    I    been    but    darkness,    and    a 
sword } 
Lisle.       No  !     for    a     revelation     breaks 
from  thee. 

Thou  hast  unlocked  the  loveliness  of  earth, 

Leading     me     through    thy    beauty    to    all 
beauty. 

Thou  hast  admitted  me  to  mystery, 

Taught   me    the    different   souls   of   all   the 
stars ; 

Through  thee  haVe  I  inherited  this  air, 

E 


.66  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Discovered  sudden  riches  at  my  feet, 
And  now  on   eyes    long   blinded  flames  the 

world. 
Thou    shattering   storm,  thou    eve    of   after 

blue, 
Thou   deluge,  and   thou   world  from  deluge 

risen, 
Thou    sudden    death,    and    thou    life    after 

death  ! 

\_A  pause  while  she  stajids  trembling. 
You    speak    not.     Give    me    but    a    human 

word. 
Miriam.     O,  all  my  life  has  listened  for 

thy  step  ! 
Lisle.     How    have    I    walked    in     glory 

unaware ! 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  67 

O,    let   your    dear   soul   forth ;    stay    it    not 
now ! 
Miriam.     For    thee    alone    came    I    into 
this  world, 
For  thee  this  very  hair  grew  glorious, 
My     eyes     are     of     this     colour     for     thy 

sake. 
This  moment  is  a  deep  inheriting, 
And  as  the  solemn  coming  to  a  kingdom. 
Lisle.     Apart    we    two    did    wander    in- 
land ;    now 
Listen,  the  ocean  of  infinity ! 
Life  hath  no  more  in  it. 

Miriam.     \_Lying  in  his  arms.~\     My  final 

peace ! 
Lisle.     Peace  ? 


68  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Miriam.  Doth  the  word  seem  cold? 

A  woman's  peace, 
It  hath  all  fire  in  it,  and  burneth  white. 
Lisle.      Peace !      Is    there    peace    while 

all  — 
Miriam.     Wake  me  not  yet, 
Not  for  this  moment ! 

Lisle.  While  this  dreaming  love 

Gives   you   the   language    of    a    child    or    a 

bird, 
Of  a  light  and  liquid  rapture. 

Miriam.  Speak  not  yet 

Too  human  and  too  grave. 

Lisle.  Yet  every  way 

I     look    is    darkness ;      for     each    moment 
war 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  69 

May  call  me  off. 

Miriam.  Peer  not  into  the  dark. 

Lisle.     Else  will  it   swallow  us.     O  sud- 
denly 
We  two  must  hew  us  out  a  path. 

Miriam.  Disturb  not 

This  hush  and    church  of   passion  with  the 
world  ! 
Lisle.     How   thy    speech  wantons,  while 

I  stare  at  life ! 
Miriam.     Hush!    I  am  lifted  even  above 

hope ! 
Lisle.     He,  he  — 

Miriam.  Thou  hast  my  spirit, 

be  content. 
O,  all  that  in  me  wanders  and  is  wild 


7iCr,  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Gathers    into    one    wave     that    breaks     on 
thee! 
Lisle.     And    I    must   bide,  till    this    full 
beauty  drop 
Which  even  divinity  did  flush  to  dream. 
Thou  witherest  like  a  virgin  at  his  side. 

\_A  sudden  trumpet.      They  start  apart. 

Miriam.     Hark ! 

Lisle.  Tidings  from  the  camp  ! 

Miriam.  I'll  leave  you,  then. 

\_Soimd  of  Jiurried  steps. 

Lisle.     Some  business  easily  despatched  ! 

Miriam.  I'll  walk 

Here,  on  the  terrace,  till  you  shall  decide 
This  petty  business. 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  71 

Enter    soldier,    with    letter,    accompanied   by 
Finch 
Lisle.  A  brief  "Yes"  or  "No." 

\^Exit   Miriam.     Lisle  takes  letter  and 
reads  it  silently. 
Ah! 
Finch.    You   are    stricken,    sir ;    lean    on 

this   arm. 
Lisle.    No !    but    stand   by ;    this    matter 
presses.     Go ! 

\_Exit  soldier  and  Finch. 

[^Reading  aloud. 

"To    Sir    Hubert    Lisle,   Commander: 

"  The  Castle  of  Bolingbroke  still  bays  all 
attack.     Those    whom    I    have    with  me  are 


72  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

too  few :  the  breach  I  have  made  too 
slight.  Another  day  and  relief  bursts  upon 
us  from  Newark. 

"There  is  no  way  but  by  sudden  on- 
slaught, and  that  by  daybreak.  Who  then 
shall  lead  this }  Whom  hast  thou  in  the 
army  of  such  desperate  valour,  that,  in 
scorn  of  life,  he  will  adventure .''  For  he 
who  shall  lead  such  onslaught,  may  already 
count  himself  as  dead.  Yet,  on  this 
hazard,  stand  our  fortunes  in  this  region. 
Hast  thou  a  man  of  such  fiery  zeal  that 
others  follow  him }  Then,  send  him 
quickly.  Let  him  know  what  peril  awaits 
him ;  but  yet  that  on  his  peril  hang  our 
hopes. 


THE   SIN   OF  DA  VID  73 

"  Knowing  well  thine  own  spirit,  I  entieat 
that  thou  thyself  shalt  not  so  adventure  ; 
for  thy  life  is  of  the  worth  of  many  cities. 
Speed !     Speed  ! 

"  VVlLLOUGHBY." 

[Lisle    sits    doivn   and    spreads    letter 
before  him  ujider  lamp. 

And     why     should     I     not     send  —  him  ? 

He    is   ripe 
With   such  experience  as  none  other  hath 
In    breaches    and    in    onslaughts    both     in 

France 
And  in  the  foreign  fenland ;  he,  I  say. 
Of  all  the  host  is  the  one  only  man, 
The  apparent  instrument.     I  do  but  send 


74  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Him    whom    the    peril    asks,  by    man    un- 

blamed. 
With    God   how   stand    I  ?      Vain   to   palter 

there. 
I'd   have   the   husband    dead   that   I    might 

clasp 
The    wife    secure.       If     then     behind     the 

deed 
The  mind  can    murder,  and   the  heart   can 

kill; 
Then   this    mere   silent    wish,   born    of    the 

brain, 
Might  instantly  start  up  a  living  thing 
And  able,   without  hands,   to    strike .'' 
What  were  I  better  than  the  lurking  thief, 
Or   hired    assassin    steahng   from    behind, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  75 

To     stab    him    in    the    back  ?       He     shall 

not  go. 
Let    him    succumb    to    the    slow    hour,    or 

drop 
By     sudden     death-shot     in     mid-battle,    or 

sink 
In  casual  fever— I'll  not  do  this  thing. 
Rather    myself    will    go;     leave    pure    this 

house. 
And  hurl   this    lured  soul  upon  the  breach. 
\^He   starts  to   go   when    Miriam    enters 
softly,  behitid,  from  moonlit    terrace. 
Miriam.    Hast  thou  despatched  ? 
Lisle.  Ah,  thou  1 

Miriam.  Hast  thou  not  yet 

Determined } 


76  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Lisle.    \_Hesitating  as    he  gazes   at  her^ 
No,  not  yet ;  there's  more  in  this 
Than  I  had  looked  for. 

Miriam.  [^Stretching  out  her  arms  for  letter^ 
May  I  read  it.?     Oft, 
A   woman's    mind  is    lightning,   where   men 
grope. 

[Lisle  refuses  to  give  letter  to  her. 
So  weighty  is  it  t 

Lisle.  Even  with  Hfe  and  death. 

Nay,  more :  who  knows }  with  all  eternity. 
Miriam.  {^Quickly ^   Not  perilous  to  thee  .-' 
Lisle.  Perhaps  !     Away  ! 

Thy  moonlight  loveliness  disturbs  me. 

Miriam.  Words 

To  make  me  stay  ;    but,  yet,  I  will  not.      I 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  ^^ 

Am    heavy    with    the    treasure    thou     hast 

given  me, 
And  I  will  steal  within  and  spread  it  out. 
I  long  to  lock  me  in  and  be  alone 
With  these  new  riches  in  the  dimness. 

Lisle.  Ah ! 

Come  back. 

Miriam.   {Laughing  softly.']  I  shall  disturb 
thee. 

Lisle.         Yet  stay  on. 
Can   you   not   hear   Time   rushing  past  our 

ears, 
With  audible,  irreparable  flight.? 

Miriam.  {Gazing  outzvard  a7id  sighing.'] 
How  e'en  the  Fenland  hath  grown  fairyland 
And  all  these  levels  gleam  as  passionate 


78  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

As  the  high  gardens  of  Assyrian  kings. 
I     shall    not     sleep  —  I    cannot     tell     thee 
why  — 

\_Leaning  toward  hint. 
Oh,  thou  dost  know !     Good  night ! 

Lisle.  Thou  shalt  not  go. 

Thy  hair   hath    slipped,  and   showers  round 

thee.     Now, 
I  hold   thee  all  dishevelled  in  the  moon ; 
I  cannot  clasp  thy  spirit ;  thee,  I   ask, 
Thus  in  thy  glorious  body  —  thee  ! 

Miriam.  I  tremble. 

Lisle.    That  smile   hath  made  a   mist   of 

all  the  world. 
Miriam.  \_Starting  from  him.']  Listen,  one 
Cometh  on  us. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  79 

Lisle.  Who  ? 

Miriam.  Alas ! 

\RusJies  from  him. 
Lisle.     \Coming    wildly    down  from  ter- 
race into   the   room,  sees    the  letter   and 
snatches  it   up.     Steps    are    heard,  and 
Mardyke  is  seen  slozvlj  descendi^ig  the 
stairs.     Meanwhile  the  moon  is  clouded, 
and  a   light   rain  begins  to  fall. '\     Old 
man,  within  this  moment  hast  thou  died. 
Enter  Mardyke,  with   Bible,  which  he  lays 
on  table. 
Mardyke.      It    seemed,    a    while    since, 
that   a   trumpet   blew; 
Still,   by   the   book    I    sat;    but    have    not 
found 


8o  THE  SIN   OF  DAVID 

Chapter   or   verse    that    lights    our    present 

need. 
What    tidings   from    the    camp,    what    sud- 
den   word  ? 
Lisle.      Prepare    to     spur     at     once     to 

Bolingbroke. 
Mardyke.     Now   on    the    instant  } 
Lisle.  On    the   instant.     Thou 

Art    needed    there.      Grave    conference    is 

held. 
Thy   famed    experience   in    foreign    siege 
The   general  asks.     Thee  only    can  I  send. 
Mardyke.     The  moon   is   quenched ;   yet 
lighten  Thou  this  dark. 
Thou  great  Taskmaster,  if  unto  Thy  service 
Me  Thou  hast  called,  I  go  and  murmur  not. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D  81 

Lisle.     Arm    thee    and    quickly,   ere  the 

blinded    dawn 
Peer      on      the      drizzling      levels.      Fast ! 

Away! 
Mardyke.     With    joy     I     go.      I     thank 

Thee,    O    my    Lord, 
That  Thou  hast  not  discarded  me  as  old, 
A    cumberer     of     the     ground,    a    lopped 

branch, 
But  Thou  hast   service  still  for   these   grey 

hairs. 
Light   though    the   task,  I'll  kindle    it   with 

fire. 
Restore   to   these   old   bones    and    cramped 

limbs 
Speed  and  the  ancient  strength  of  other  days 

F 


82  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Then    when    I    battled    and     bled     at    La 

Rochelle. 
Ratcliffe !    at    once    my    armour,    and     my 

horse. 

{Exit  Mardyke. 
Lisle.  [  Taking  pen  and  writing^  "  I 
send  you  the  man  fitted  for  our  purpose ; 
of  mighty  zeal  and  valour,  and  one  that 
can  enkindle  others  to  a  hazard.  Let 
him,  then,  lead  this  assault.  He  knoweth 
his  own  peril  and  wherefore  he  is  sent. 
He  himself  beareth  this  letter.  He 
bringeth  his  life  in  his  hand.  Send  me 
swift    news    of    the  assault  —  and  of  him." 

[  Voices   are    heard,   and  the    sound  of 
running     to     and    fro.       Reenter 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  83 

Mardyke,  half-armed,    zvith    Rat- 
CLiFFE,    tvho   hastily   helps    him    to 
finish   his  arming. 
Mardyke.     ^To      Ratcliffe.]        Buckle 
me  closer  there ;  and,  here,  more  room. 
Ratcliffe.     Thy  back  lies  open  here! 
Mardyke.  In  such  a  cause 

I    fear    no    stab    in    the    back;    the    front 
is   all. 
Lisle.         Here    is    a    letter:    into    Wil- 
loughby's  hand 
Deliver  it. 

Mardyke.     Shall  I  be  long  from    home.? 
Lisle.     I  think    not  — till    to-morrow    at 
sunset. 
Reenter  Miriam  from  the  other  side 


84  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Miriam.     Whither    so    suddenly,    in    the 

dead  night  ? 
Lisle.     Your   husband    summoned  to  the 

camp,  straightway. 
Mardyke.     Our  officers  hold  conference; 
no  more. 
My     voice     is     needed  ;     prattle     not  —  to 

bed! 
Woman  hath  no  concern  in  this. 

Miriam.  But   when 

Shall  you  return  } 

Mardyke.  To-morrow,  by  sunset. 

[Lisle    goes    out  on    terrace.     Miriam 
watches     Mardyke    finishing    his 
arming. 
My   sword,   now ! 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  85 

Enter  Servant,  hurriedly 
Servant.  Sir,  the  horse  stands. 

Miriam.     \_To  Mardyke,  w/io  goes  to  the 

door.'l     Sir,  good-night! 
Mardyke.      There,    then  —  {^Kisses     her 
071   forehead.']       Such    joy    have     I    in 
buckhng   me 
Again  in  armour,  all  things  I  forget; 
Suddenly   wife    and    home    are    gone    from 
me. 

[Miriam  goes  from  him  to  the  door. 
Good-night,  Sir  Hubert.     Peace   be    on    this 
house  ! 
Lisle.     {^Coming  down.]     Sir,  shall  I  go 
in  place  of  thee  1     'Tis  not 
Too  late! 


86  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Mardyke.     Have    I    not    prayed  ?      The 
Lord  hath  chosen. 

\_Exit  Mardyke  zvith  Ratcliffe. 
Lisle  goes  out  on  terrace  —  soimd 
of  hoofs  galloping  azvay  ijito  the 
night.  A  cold  gliimner  of  dawn 
appears  far  off. 
Miriam.      When     doth     the    conference 

end  .-* 
Lisle.  To-morrow ! 

Miriam.  Then, 

A    httle    while    is     ours.      So    cold  .^      But 
now  — 
Lisle.      A    moment,    Miriam !      I     must 
think  alone. 
I  am  sore  troubled. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  87 

Miriam.  Kiss  me  —  I  will  go. 

[Lisle    makes    movement   as  though  to 
embrace  her,  but  cannot. 
Am  I  despised,  then,  that  I  could  not  hide 
What  burned  in  me .-'     I  should  have  fenced 

and  fenced 
And  so  had  reverence  —  you  despise  me  ? 

Lisle.  Ah ! 

The  starkness  of  the  dawn  is  at  my  heart. 
Miriam.     O,    how    I    scorn    myself  —  and 
yet  —  [^Putting  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der  and   looking   in   his   face.~\     Good- 
night! 

\_Exit  Miriam. 
Lisle.     I    ne'er  did    love    thee    so    as  at 
this  moment. 


88  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

As  he  ttirfis,  enter  Ratcliffe 
Who's  there  ? 

Ratcliffe.     I,  sir. 
Lisle.  Well,  well.? 

Ratcliffe.  The  holy  Book! 

I  come  to  lock  it  safe.     Each  night  it  is 
My  master's  custom.    Or,  I'll  leave  it  thus; 
If  haply  you  would  seek  in  it  some  verse 
To  light  our  present  trouble. 

Lisle.  Leave  it,  then  ! 

\^Exit  Ratcliffe.  A  sallozv  gleam  of 
dawn  falls  on  the  Book,  as  Lisle 
opens  and  reads;  and  the  sound 
of  galloping  hoofs  is  borne  back 
once  more  on  the  wind. 
"  And  it   came    to   pass    in   the   morning, 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  89 

that  David  wrote  a  letter  to  Joab,  and 
sent  it  by  the  hand  of  Uriah.  And  he 
wrote  in  the  letter,  saying,  Set  ye  Uriah 
in  the  forefront  of  the  hottest  battle,  and 
retire  ye  from  him,  that  he  may  be 
smitten,  and  die. 

"And  the  men  of  the  city  went  out 
and  fought  with  Joab  :  and  there  fell  some 
of  the  people  of  the  serv^ants  of  David ; 
and  Uriah  the  Hittite  died  also." 

\^A  faint   sound   of  galloping   hoofs    is 
again  heard,  and  then  ceases. 


ACT    III 


ACT  III 

Time.  —  Five  years  later. 

Scene.  —  A  room  in  a  house  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  towji  of  Wakefield.  At 
back  a  windoiv  looks  out  on  the  open 
coutitry.  On  its  right  a  door  communi- 
cates zvith  the  outer  courtyard;  on  the 
left  another  opens  into  the  sleeping  rooms 
of  the  house.  Lisle  discovered,  seated, 
with  papers  before  him ;  on  one  side 
Ratcliffe,     on     the     other     two     officers 

in   attetidance. 

93 


94  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Lisle.     Old     Ratcliffe,    ask    my   wife    to 

come  to  me. 
Stay!     She   was    hushing    up   the    child   to 

sleep, 
Low  singing  over  him ;  say   will   she    come 
If  he  is  sleeping  now. 

\Exit  Ratcliffe. 

Sirs,  we  have  seen 

Three  years  of  seeming  peace;   yet  here  I 

hold 
Letters  in  Fairfax'  hand;    he  apprehends 
In  Kent  and  Essex  disaffection ;  speaks 
Of   imminent   trouble.     What   of   Wakefield 

then 
And  all  this  region  ;  see  you  any  cause 
Here  for  disquiet } 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  95 

Officer.  None,  sir,  save  from  bands 

Roaming  in  indolent  undiscipline. 
Hither  and  thither,  plundering   purposeless. 
Lisle.     No  smouldering  mischief  then.'' 
Officer.  None  visible. 

Enter  Miriam  %vith  child.     Officers  retire 
Miriam.      Hubert  — he     will     not    sleep, 
but  must  put   on 
His    sword    and    strut    with    it.      Ah  !    let 
him  stay. 
Lisle.     Well  — well!    thy    sword   already 
girded  on, 
Yet,     sir,     they     tell     me     that     no     peril 

threatens. 
\To    Miriam.]      How     straight    he    stands! 
His  colour  too  not   bright 


96  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Nor    dull ;     but    with    a    blander    glow    of 

blood. 
I  think  that    he    hath    more    of    me    than 
thee. 
Miriam.     No,    Hubert,    no. 
Lisle.       His  eyes  !     Those  are  my  eyes. 
Miriam.     Only  in    colour!    but   that   way 
they   ope 
Wide    at   the   world,    that    is   all    mine. 
Lisle.  Perhaps. 

Miriam.     Then,    too,    his   mouth } 
Lisle.  Mine,  mine  in  every  curve. 

Miriam.     If  you  had  watched  him  smile 
as  close  as  I 
You  would  not   say   that;    all   his   smile   is 
mine. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  97 

I  grant  that  when  he  frets,  his    mouth  will 

drop 
Like  to  his  father's. 

Lisle.  So!  from  thee  his  joy, 

From  me  his  sadness. 

Miriam.  Hubert,  no  !  when  he 

Doth  sadden,  that    same    dimness   o'er    him 

comes 
As  upon  me. 

Lisle.  Will  you  claim  all  of  him  ? 

His  eyes,  his  mouth,  his  sad  hour    and    his 

bright  ? 
His    hair,    now,    see    that    curl    behind    the 

ear. 
Come,  you  must  yield  me  that. 

Miriam.  O,   that   perhaps. 


G 


98  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Lisle.     Will  you  not   leave  me  any  part 

in    him  ? 
Miriam.      Oh,    yes !     his    cry    when    he 

would  fight  off  sleep. 
Lisle.      \_Lmig/nng.']     Well,    well,    sweet, 
we  will  quarrel  over  him 
No    longer;    he    is    fair    and    strong     and 

bright. 
How    his    young    face    hath    mellowed    our 

first  passion. 
What  flamed  then  is  a  glow  more  beautiful. 
Yet  is  thy  love  of  me  not  less .'' 

Miriam.  How — less? 

Lisle.    The  former  fury  hath  gone  out  of  it, 
The    pulsing    life,    the    blinding    dance    of 
blood. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  99 

Miriam.       The     child     hath     brought     a 
tremble  into  it. 
I  am  grown  fearful  for  the  sake  of  him ; 
I  dread  the   rustle    of    angels   in   his   room 
Lisle.      And    now   doth    he   divide   what 
once  was  mine 
Wholly. 

Miriam.     Ah,  no !    he  hath  enriched  that 

love. 

Once  did  it  live  upon  thy  look,  thy 
voice, 

Thy  strength,  thy  courage,  and  thy  con- 
queror soul, 

This  was  enough,  God  knows.  But, 
Hubert,  now 

We  two  together  to  behold  our  boy. 


lOO  THE   SIN   OF  DAVID 

That  we  have  reared  and  planted  sunward, 

grow, 
While   all   our   sighs   like   breezes   come  to 

him, 
And   all   our   tears   fall   down   on  him    like 

rain. 
I  thought   thou   never  couldst   be   more    to 

me  ; 
But  now  is  added  to  that  rapturous  fire 
Much  that  perhaps  of  men  is  not  esteemed, 
But  to  a  woman  meaneth  half  her  life. 
To  hold  our    sweet    night    council    o'er   his 

day, 
To  exchange  bright  understandings  silently 
At  little  words  of  his ;  to  bend,  we  two 
Over  him  dreaming  while  thy  hand  on  mine 


THE  SIN   OF  DA  VID  loi 

Tightens    a    moment ;     then    to    watch    to- 
gether 
Some  little  way  of  thee  or  me  appear 
Sudden  in  him  ;  to  feel  our  daily  Hfe 
Grow    solemn    at    his    voice :    to     see     our 

spirits, 
Close     though     they     met      in      kiss      and 

breathed  word, 
Visibly   here    commingled    and   made   flesh. 
Lisle.     Now  blows  the  future  sweet  into 
our  eyes. 
And  even  peril  treadeth  upon  grass. 
Enter  Ratcliffe 
Ratcliffe.     a    sudden    messenger    from 
Pomfret   ridden  ! 

Enter  messenger,  hurriedly 


I02  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Messenger.     Sir,  all  the  country  around 
Pomfret  walls 
Is  risen  up ;  the  castle  is  cut  off  : 
We  foraging  without,  found  no  return. 
They  signal   for  relief ;    and  one    even  now 
Behind  me  rideth  furiously,  I  fear 
Bringing  worse  news. 

Lisle.     \To  Ratcliffe.]     Bid  Arlington 
prepare 
With  all  our  horsemen  instantly  to  spur 
To  Pomfret;  then  if  he  who  rides  behind 
Bear  us  worse  tidings,   I   myself   will   lead. 
\_Exit  Ratcliffe  witJi  messenger. 
Miriam.      \_To   child,    zvho   falls   back    on 

her  shoulder.']     Ah,  darling! 
Lisle.     How,  what  ails  the  child  } 


THE   SIN   OF  DAVID  103 

Miriam.  There,  there, 

Is  thy  head  heavy  ?    On  my  bosom  then. 
Lisle.     Now,  Hubert,  little  Hubert,  draw 
thy  sword  ! 

\Child    attempts,    but   fails     to     draw 
sivord. 
See  thus  !     \_Drazviiig  /lis  oivji.^     Not   even 

a   smile  !     Why  he  would    laugh 
And  leap  at  this  an  hour  since. 

Miriam.  He  is  heavy. 

Hush  !  do  not  speak  to  him. 

Lisle.       [^Bending     over     hiin.~\       What 
dreams  I  have 
For  thee. 

Miriam.     What  dost  thou  dream  ? 
Lisle.  He  shall  be  tall 


I04  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Miriam.    No  taller  than  thyself. 

Lisle.  I'd  have  him  shoot 

Beyond  me  both  in  inches  and  in  deeds. 

Miriam.    A  soldier } 

Lisle.      No  !  when  he  shall  grow  a  man 
The   land   will   cry    for    rest.      I    see    him 

then 
A  healer  and  a  closer  up  of  wounds. 
His  task  shall  be  to  obliterate  and  soothe; 
To  bind,  not  break ;  to  mingle,  not  to  mar ; 
His  counsel  breathing  on  our  England  balm. 
This  labour  more  than  battle  asks  a  man. 

Miriam.    It  is  a  noble  dream. 

Lisle.  And  shall  come  true. 

Or  he  shall  build  in  new  lands  over  sea 
Some  virgin  commonwealth. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  105 

Ratcliffe.   \_Entcring  hastily.']    A    horse- 
man,   sir, 
Spurred  sweating  to  the  gate. 

Lisle.  Summon  him  in  ! 

Enter  soldier,    breathlessly 
Soldier.     From    Pomfret,    sir,   where  we 
are  hard  beset. 
The   town    may  fall    each   moment,    totters 

now ; 

And  only  in  the  sight  of  thee  is  hope. 

Lisle.    [_To    Miriam.]   Dear,  I    must    go. 

\_To  soldier.']     Tell   Colonel   Arlington 

That    I   myself  will  lead  ;    let  all  stand   by. 

RatcHffe,  a  breastplate  and  a  helm  enough  ! 

[Ratcliffe  hastily  arms  him. 

Old  man,  why  do  thy  fingers    fumble  thus, 


io6  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Or    have    thine     eyes    dimmed     suddenly  ? 
Apace ! 
Ratcliffe.    O,   sir,  this   very  night-time, 
five  years  flown, 
Thus  armed  I  my  old  master,  when  he  fell 
By   Castle   Bolingbroke, 

Lisle.  This  very  night  ? 

Ratcliffe.    This     night ;     when     I     did 
leave    the    holy  Book 
Unlocked  for  you  to  search  it. 

Lisle.  I  remember. 

Ratcliffe.    Again    the    night    is     here! 
My  fingers  fumble 
About  the  straps  as  then.      Pray  God  this 

night 
May  not  see  dawn  Hke  that! 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  107 

Lisle.  Leave  me  —  enough. 

S^Exit   Ratcliffe. 
\_Astdi'.']    I   sent  him  then  !     Now   I  myself 

must   go. 
Miriam.      [  To   cldld,   zuiih   iv/iom   she    is 

walking    to    and  fro.']     Now    thou    art 

hot,    now    cold. 
Lisle.  Art  thou,  dead  man, 

Urging  me  down  that  road  where  thee  I  sped.' 
Miriam.       \^B  ringing    child     to     Lisle.] 

Hubert,    his    face ! 
Lisle.     \_Suddenly,  gazing  on  child.]    Or, 

or  —  give  me  the  child. 
Miriam.    What's   this } 
Lisle.     \_To     child.]     Close,     close,    your 

arms  about  my  neck. 


io8  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

No  peril  visible  or  invisible 
Shall   touch   you    so   enfolded. 

Miriam.  Why  so  fearful^ 

So  on  a  sudden  ? 

Lisle.  Is  our  son  watch'd  o'er.? 

Guarded  each  instant? 

Miriam.  Hubert ! 

Lisle.  Wife,  I  speak  not 

Of  common  perils,  but  —  of  the  approach 
Of  malice  superhuman.  Ah !  forgive  me. 
There     came     a     little     cloud     upon     my 

brain. 
Take     him     within ;     summon     the     doctor 

straight. 
He    is    ever   within    call.      Then    send    him 
here 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  109 

That  I  may  speak  with  him. 

\_Kissing  child  and  looking  after  them. 

\_Exit  Miriam  zvith  child. 

Why  on  this  night 

Doth     the     child     sicken     suddenly?      Ah, 

folly ! 
Childhood  is  quickly  sick  and  quickly  well. 

\_A  pause. 
Or  do  the  dead  remember  still?     Perhaps 
The  spirit  of   the    murdered  fresh  in  wrath 
Leaps  out   upon  his  murderer,  but  in  vain. 
Baffled  by  loss  of  corporal  faculty. 
May  he  not  then  a  spirit  vengeance  seek, 
A    vengeance    not  of    hands,  and    learn    to 

blight 
And  cripple  ;    and  perhaps  the  matin  chill 


no  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Can  use,  and  all  the  fatal  airs  of  night, 
And  can  direct  the  wandering  malady 
Whither  he  will  ?     If  he  then  whom  I  slew 
Is  aiming  in  such  vengeance  at  the  child  ? 
Wilt    thou    revenge    thee    on    bright    curls 

and  cheeks, 
And   wilt    thou    lunge,  grey   swordsman,  at 
a  babe  ? 

Enter  doctor,  from  witJim 
Now,  doctor,  now !     How  is't  with  him  ? 

Doctor.  He  lies 

In  some  mysterious  languor,  and  my  art 
Reaches  him  not. 

Lisle.  Is  then  the  malady 

To  human  healers  new } 

Doctor.  To  me  at  least. 


THE   SIX  OF  DAVID  III 

Lisle.     Is    it    not   written    in    thy    cate- 
gory ? 

Doctor.     I    cannot    reach    the    seat    and 
fount  of  it. 

Lisle.      Stands    it    not    on    the    Hst,    the 
cause,  the  cure  ? 

Doctor.     Show  me  the  cause  ;    then  will 
I  find  the  cure. 

Lisle.      What    symptom    hath    he?      Or 
what  certain  sign  ? 

Doctor.     No    spot    hath    he,    nor    fever 
rash  ;    yet  fever. 

Lisle.     Doth    he    cry   out }     or    lies    he 
silent  still  ? 

Doctor.      He    makes   no    cry,    yet  strug- 
gles as  he  lies. 


112  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Lisle.     With  what  doth  the   child  strug- 
gle, how  beset? 
Doctor.     He    seems    to    fend    a     some- 
thing from  his  throat. 
Lisle.     \_With  a   cry.'\     Thou  dead  man, 
take  thy  fingers  from  his  throat; 
He  is  a  young  thing  and  a  little  —  ah! 
Back  to  him,  doctor,  linger  not  —  yet  stay ; 
Think  you  that  heaven  doth  ever  intervene 
With  special    sickness,  and   for   some   rank 

fault 
In  us,  doth  strike  us  there  where  most  we 
love  .'' 
Doctor.     'Tis   our   presumption  to  imag- 
ine it. 
We  fancy  those  regardless-rolling  orbs. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  113 

Themselves  inhabited,  tremendous  worlds, 
Night-lights  to  reassure  us  in  the  dark. 
We  colour  with  our   trespasses  the  eclipse, 
And  hear  paternal  anger  in  the  storm ; 
Impute    to    sickness    wrath,    vengeance    to 

death, 
And  memory  to  unrecording  Nature. 
Lisle.     Perhaps  —  back  to  his  bed. 
Doctor.  What  man  can  do 

I'll  do. 

\^Exit  doctor. 
Lisle.       [  With      uplifted     hands.']       O, 
Thou  that  sittest  in  Thy  heavens. 
Mine  was    the    sin ;     be    mine    the    punish- 
ment. 
But  let  him  live.     End  me  with  lightning,  or 


114  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

In  fever   let   me   burn  down    to    the  grave, 

But    let    him    live.     Make    ashes    of     my 

life, 
Take   from   me   every   hope — but    let    him 

live! 
Strike    here,     here,    and    not    otherwhere ! 

Or    if 
I    may   not   look   for  mercy,  yet  must   she, 
Who    of   that   murder   goeth    innocent. 
Walk    with    me    hand    in    hand   into    this 

fire? 
By  our    two    souls  that  anchor   on    his  life. 
O,   wilt   Thou  smite   where   all   is   holiest. 
Smite  at  the  very  fount  of  hope  and  faith. 
And    wring    the    spirit     for     the    fault    of 

flesh  ? 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  115 

Or  if  with  mine  her  doom   entangled  be, 
What  hath  he  done   that   he    must  pay  the 

price  ? 
What    crime     committed    save     the    being 

born  ? 
Then    must    my    sin    cancel    for    him    the 

light, 
Put    out    the    recent    sunbeam,    and    make 

blank 
The  murmurs    and   the    splendours    of    the 

world  ? 

0  Father,  by  that   hour,  when   Thou    wast 

dimmed 
To  human  in  the  clouds  on  Calvary  !  — 
Enter  soldier,  suddenly 

1  come,  but  to  a  phantom  conflict  there; 


n6  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

I  leave  behind  the  real  battle  here. 

\_Exit  Lisle. 
\_After  a  pause,  Ratcliffe  slowly 
enters  and  puts  out  the  lights 
one  by  07ie,  and  goes  out,  leaving 
the  stage  in  complete  darkness. 
After  a  pause  a  female  figure  is 
seen  issuing  from  the  door  o?i  the 
left,  zvho  goes  over  to  the  ivindow  at 
the  back,  atid,  withdraiving  slowly 
the  curtain,  the  glimmer  of  dawn 
is  seen.  She  stands  a  moment 
gazing  outward ;  a  single  sigh  of 
wind  is  heard.  Enter  Ratcliffe, 
wearily,  from  the  door  oti  the 
right.      He   is   about    to    cross    the 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  117 

room  zvJien  the  zvoman  stops  Jiim 
ivitJi  finger  on  her  lip  and  points 
to  door  of  sleeping  room.  Rat- 
CLIFFE  retires,  bowing  his  head. 
As  the  woman  crosses  back  to  the 
door  on  the  left,  she  is  met  by  a 
nurse,  who  with  whispers  gives  her 
an  empty  phial.  The  woman  goes 
ont  with  this  by  the  door  ofi  the 
right,  the  nurse  re^naining  at  the 
other  door,  and  listening.  She  then 
starts  and  Jiurries  inward.  The 
woman  returjis  ivith  the  phial  and 
is  met  by  the  doctor,  issuing  from 
door  on  left.  He  has  a  glass,  and, 
holding  the  phial  to  the  light,  pours 


ii8  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

some  of  it  out  carefully,  drop  by 
glimmering  drop.  Meanwhile  the 
room  is  growing  gradually  lighter 
and  more  light.  The  nnrse  now 
quickly  emerges.^  touching  the  doctor 
and  motionijig  within.  She  and 
the  doctor  retire  within,  the  woman 
standing  beside  the  door  viotionless. 
Reenter  Ratcliffe  hastily  a7id 
stealthily  ;  he  draws  the  woman  into 
the  middle  of  th'e  room  a7id  points 
to  window,  while  a  noise  of  hoofs 
is  heard  approaching  and  ceases 
outside.  A  soldier  nozv  enters 
hurriedly,  but,  about  to  speak,  is 
motioned  to   siletice   by    Ratcliffe 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  119 

and  the  woviaii.     Ratcliffe  takes 
soldier  dozvn. 
Ratcliffe.      Your   news  ?      But   soft,   in 

whisper. 
Soldier.        Victory ! 
Pomfret    relieved !  —  Sir    Hubert   from    hot 

fight 
Returning   —  well-nigh     home  —  already. 
Listen. 

\Far  off  is  Jicard  the  sound  of  the 
Puritan  hymn  of  victory.  It  grozvs 
londer  and  louder.  There  is  a 
sound  of  commotion  ivithoict,  and 
enter  Lisle,  casting  aside  his 
armour  as  he  comes,  followed  by 
certain   captai7ts. 


I20  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Lisle.     How   is    it   with   the   child  ? 

\The  woman  and  Ratcliffe  motion 
him  to  silence. 

Woman.  Hush,  sir,  be  still. 

The     moment     is     approaching      and     the 
struggle. 
Lisle.     Let    me    go    in    to    him.     Hold 
me  not  back. 

\He  rushes  to  door,  but  is  met  by 
nurse,  with  finger  on  lip.  She 
stands  before  the  door. 

Nurse.     Hist !   do  not  now   disturb    him. 
Now  is  come 
The  moment  when   he  wakes  or  sleeps   for 
ever. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  I2i 

[Lisle    signs    to    officers    to    withdraiv, 

which  they  do  in  silence  ivitJi  bowed 

heads,    and    stealthily  folloived    by 

Ratcliffe.      The  nnrsc  and  woman 

retire   witJiin,   silently.     Lisle,   left 

alone,  goes  to  zvindozv  at  back,  and, 

holding   7ip    his    hands,    causes    the 

chanting  of  the  soldiers,  ivJiich  has 

come  nearer  a7id neai'er,  to  subside  a7id 

cease.      He  comes  down  to  the  door 

and  stands  by  it,  breathing  heavily. 

Lisle.     God !     God ! 

Reenter    doctor,    who     stands    with     bowed 

head  at  door,  njuioticed  at  first  by  Lisle, 

zvho   at    length   sees  Jiim 

The  child  is  dead  ? 


122  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Doctor.  The  child  is  dead. 

\_Exit  back  into  room. 
Lisle.     The  sin  of  David  mine,  and  mine 
the  doom  ! 


Would  I  had  found  the  death  I  sought  with 


passion, 

There  in  the  storm  of  swords  round  Pomfret 
keep  ! 

Yet  she  —  'tis  she  whom  now  I  must  re- 
member ; 

She  is  alone  with  him  and  makes  no  cry. 

No !    she  is  very  silent :    most  she  needs 

My  arm  supporting,    and    upholding  words. 

With  her  must  I  abide,  lift,  and  sustain 
her. 

Enter  Miriam.     She  stands  alone  by  the  door. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D  123 

Miriam.     What    have    I    done,  that    God 

hath  taken  my  child  ? 
Lisle.      \_Hesitati71gly  and  tenderly. '\    How 

should    thy  deed   bereave    him    of    his 

breath } 
Miriam.        \^Slowly     recognising     Lisle.] 

And  thou  I    thou  wast    his   father,  wast 

thou  not .'' 
Lisle.       And     am     thy     husband     upon 

w^hom  to  lean. 
Miriam.      How    have    I    sinned?      1     do 

not   understand. 
Lisle.     O,  Miriam  — 
Miriam.     Wherefore  was  he  dangled  bright 
Before    my    eyes  a    moment  —  then    with- 
drawn ? 


124  2"i¥^   SIN  OF  DAVID 

He  had  just  learned  to  run  alone ;    and  I 
Had   taught  him  a  few  words  —  and   he   is 
gone. 
Lisle.     How  can  I  help  you  but  a  little, 

tell  me .-' 
Miriam.     The  causeless   theft!     I    say  it 
were  relief 
To    feel    that    here    I    paid    for   some   far 

sin. 
Sooner  heaven's   ire   than  heaven's  indiffer- 
ence ! 
O,    Hubert,   yes  —  on    me    this    doom    has 
fallen. 
Lisle.     On  thee  !     Why  thee  ^ 
Miriam.  I  rushed  into  thy  arms 

In  headlong  passion    and  in  frenzied  blood. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D  125 

And    recked    not    of    my    husband,   nor    of 

law. 
This  is  my  punishment ! 

Lisle,  Why  charge  thyself  ? 

Shall  we  accuse  us  of  the  frozen  bird, 
Plead  guilty  to    the  fallen  buds   of    spring? 
Miriam.     That    bud    was    mine;     and    I 
have  cankered  it  : 
And   though    my  boy  came    from    me  with- 
out spot. 
And    though   his    body  from    the    scythe  of 

Death 
Lieth  as  sweet  as  mown  grass  in  the  even. 
Yet    on     his     soul    were    deep    transmitted 

stains, 
And  tell  tale  scars,  to  spirits  visible. 


126  THE   SIN   OF  DAVID 

Lisle.     Peace ! 

Miriam.  I   am  held  unworthy,  as 

who  should  say  — 
"  She    is    unclean :   ah,  trust    her    not    with 

babes." 
Sir,  I  was  no  fit  mother  for  your  child. 
Lisle.     Miriam ! 

Miriam.  A    mother }     No !   not 

even  a  nurse. 
I    had    known    too    much   to  dare    undress 

thy  babe. 
Where    lived     I     ere     I     came     into    your 

service  ? 
Mad    you    made    close    enquiry  —  you    had 

straight 
Discharged  me. 


THE  S/N  OF  DAVID  127 

Lisle.     Wife ! 

Miriam.  Yet  there  where  he  is  gone, 

There's    none   so    pure  could   tend   on    him 

as  I. 
So  brood  above  his   opening  eyes  at  dawn. 
When    was    I    wanting    found  ?     When,  for 

one  instant  ? 
When  was  I  caught  a  sentinel  asleep .'' 
What  flash  of  absence,  lightning  of  repose, 
Is    urged    against  me  ?     Why,  I  did  behold 
And  hear   the   coming   hours  approach  like 

foes, 
The    night    a    thief,  the    stars    with    poised 

spears, 
The  sun  Hke  an  incendiary  rushed. 
Lisle.     Beloved ! 


128  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Miriam.     Yet  that  madness  all  outweighs  ; 
In    blind    blood    have  I    sinned,  and    he    is 

struck. 
And     you !       I     have     made     you     suffer ! 

You'll  not  speak. 
Yet    the    gripped    hand,    the   soldier-silence 

tell. 
Mercy,  mercy,  my  lord  ! 

\_SJie  casts  herself  at  his  feet. 

Lisle.  In  mercy  rise  ! 

Cling   not  about    my  feet !     Loose  you    my 

knees ! 
I  will  not  see  you  suffer  or  abased ! 
Shudder  away  from  me !     Mine  was  the  sin. 
I,    I    alone    have    brought    this    vengeance 

down. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  129 

Miriam.     Ah ! 

Lisle.         He   that   was  your  husband  — 

Miriam.  What  of  hmi } 

Lisle.      Fell     in     the     wild     assault     of 
Bolingbroke. 

Miriam.     Yes,  yes! 

Lisle.  Yet  died  he  by  no  accident. 

Miriam.     Hubert,  this  is  all  dark ! 

Lisle.  Whoe'er  should  lead 

That  desperate  onslaught,  he  must  surely  die. 
I  sent  your  husband. 

Miriam.  Knowing  this.? 

Lisle.  Because 

1  knew  it.     I'll  not  spare  myself  ;   LU  bare 
This  traitor  heart  unto  your  eyes  at  last. 
I  am  no  common  murderer,  Miriam. 


I 


I30  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

I  slew  not  in  the  open,  nor  in  haste, 

Nor    wracked     with    jealousy :      I    trapped 

him  to  it, 
Beguiled     him     with     some     common     con- 
ference, 
Then     wrote     a     letter     marking    him    for 

death. 
And    watched    him     ride,   dying,    into    the 
night. 
Miriam.     Therefore    wast    thou    so   cold, 
and  could'st  not  kiss  me. 
Away ! 

Lisle.     He  stood  between  us. 
Miriam.  Touch  me  not! 

Lisle.     The  path  to  you  across  his  body 
lay. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  131 

Miriam.     Blood  is  upon  you  ! 

Lisle.  Yet  —  yet ! 

Miriam.  Not  his  blood, 

0  murderer! 

Lisle.  And  if  murderer  I  be, 

Then  for  thy  sake  am  I  a  murderer. 
Miriam.     No  !  not  of  him. 
Lisle.  Of  whom  then  } 

Miriam.  Of  my  child. 

Lisle.     That    which    I    did,    I    did    with 
reeling  sense ! 

1  see  the    moon    still    on    thy  tumbled  hair. 
That  smile   that  made  a  mist   of  the    great 

world. 
Miriam,     O  will   you   dare   to   make   me 
your   accomplice  .'* 


132  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

'Twas     I     that     set    you     on,     I     beckoned 

you  ? 
Lisle.    No  !  but  thy  moonlit  beauty  mad- 
dened me. 
Miriam.    Ah !    will   you  speak   of   beauty 

at  this  moment .-' 
This  beauty !  and  my  boy  so  close  and  cold, 
I  sicken  through  all  my  body.     Then  these 

eyes 
That  still  shine,  and  these  lips  that  dare  to 

speak, 
This  bosom,  very  snow  from  hills  of  Hell, 
This    flesh    which    still    I    wear,    whispered 

you  on .'' 
This    body    was    the    bait     then     and    the 

lure 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  133 

That  Woo'd   you  to  that   murder  —  and,  my 

God, 
This  —  this  conceived   my   darhng  !      Dead 

is  he  ? 
When  was  he  ever  otherwise  than  dead  ? 
As    soon    as    quickened,    sentenced,    judged 

already. 
Long,   long  ere  he  was  born. 

Lisle.  I,  I  alone 

Am  stained. 

Miriam.   \In  frenzy^   Fll   mar   this   body 

—  loose  your  hold. 
Grasp  not   my  wrists  —  this  poison-tree   I'll 

cleave. 
Lisle.    On  me  thy  fury !     Me !     Here  is 

thy  aim! 


134  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

I  only  have    sinned ! 

Miriam.    \_With  gradual  calm.']  Yet  this 
did  lure  thee  on. 

Now  on  the  wild  night-festival  of  sense 

The   spirit   morning   dawneth  —  or   is't  per- 
haps 

Merely  the  drunkard's  morning  penitence  — 

A   misery  matutinal  ?     All  our  marriage 

Had    from    the    first   this    taint   on   it.     No 
more 

We'll    meet,  nor   ever   touch  hands,  nor  for 
a  moment 

Glance  in  each  other's  eyes,  for  here  I  see 

God's  finger  fallen. 

[  With   a   certain    zveayy  s%veetness.~\    Hubert 
—  it  is  past, 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  135 

My  wrath  with    thee  —  but    let    us    fly  each 

other. 
Between,    an    angel     stands     with     flaming 

sword, 
And  at  his  feet   the  body  of  our  babe. 
Quickly  !    Apart !    Let  water  roll  between  us  ! 
Away,  like  those  first  parents  out  of  Eden  ! 
Fiery  behind  us  gates  of  Paradise! 

Lisle.    Yet   was    her  hand   in    his  for  all 

the   wrath. 
Still,   still   you    love    me  ?     Tell    me   this   at 

least  / 
Miriam.     Yes !  but  our  love  is  as  a  thing 

accursed. 
Lisle.     Woman,  I  grope  to  find  you,  but 

I  cannot. 


136  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

O,  is    there    no  way  to   you,  and    no   path, 
No  winding  path  ? 

Miriam.  No  way  for  thee  to  me. 

Lisle.     Dear,  have  I  lost  you  utterly } 

Miriam.  For  ever ! 

Lisle.    God,  can   thy  sea   divide    as  does 
this  sea, 
O    God,    what    is    Thy    severing    grave    to 

this  } 
\_A  pause ;    then,  appJvacJiing  her  wistfully. '\ 
The   child  did  you  resemble  in  his  smile. 
Yet  me  about  the  brow  a  little. 

Miriam.  Hush ! 

Lisle.    Leave    me     not     utter    darkness, 
give    me    some 
Gleam  of  a  far-off  meeting  ere  we  die, 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  137 

Somewhere    at    last,    at    last    in    a    strange 
land, 

Or  shingle  at  the  ending  of  the  world ! 
Miriam.    I  am  utterly  a-cold  and  without 
hope. 

I    would    creep    in     beside    the    dead     for 
warmth. 
Lisle.    Being  so  cold,    love,  whither    will 

you  wander  .'' 
Miriam.    Away!      to   live   with    all    dumb 
things  that   yearn. 

I'll    nest    with    thee,  thou    mother   bird    re- 
turned, 

I    feel  thy  dreadful  circlings  in  my  blood. 

I'll  be  the  friend  of  the  robbed  lioness; 

Above  me,  lo  !  the  unhindered  desert  moon! 


138  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

0  I  am  stone  to  human  life  henceforth  ! 
Yet,  if  I  feel,  I  feel  we  two  must  part. 

Lisle.    \_After  a   struggle. '\     Come,    then. 

Good-by.     Give  me  your  hand  once. 
Miriam.   \_Tuniing  and  seeing  him.']     Ah  ! 
Why     did    you    turn    his    eyes    upon    me 

then } 

1  cannot  go  for  a  moment. 

Lisle.     \Coming  close  to   her."]     Why  at 
all.? 
Miriam,    it   seems    that    now    for    the    first 

time 
We    two    are    joined    together,     man     and 

wife. 
[_She  snakes  to  go."]     No,   listen !     Then  go 
from  me  if  vou  will. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  I39 

Our  former  marriage,  though   by  holy  bell 
And  melody  of  lifted  voices  blest, 
Was    yet    in    madness    of    the    blood    con- 
ceived, 
And    born    of     murder:     therefore    is    the 

child 
Withdrawn,    that    we   might   feel   the   sting 

of  flesh 
Corruptible ;  yet  he  in  that  withdrawal. 
Folded  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Father, 
Hath   joined   us   in   a  marriage  everlasting; 
\_She    raises   her  head.']     Marriage    at    last 

of  spirit,  not  of  sense, 
Whose  ritual  is  memory  and    repentance. 
Whose    sacrament    this    deep    and    mutual 
wound, 


I40  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Whose   covenant    the    all    that    might    have 

been. 
{^Solemnly. '\      And    to    this    troth    majestic 

shadows  throng, 
And  stand  about  us  in  dumb  sympathy. 
In  presence  of  these  silent  witnesses, 
And  one  perchance  that  carrieth  now  a  babe, 
I    take    in    mine    thy    hand    and    call    thee 

wife  — 
Wife,  wife,  till  the  grave-shattering  trumpet ! 
Miriam.  Yet 

I  want  the  little  hands  and  feet  of  him. 
Lisle.     Dear,  in  a  deeper  union    are  we 

bound 
Than    by    the    earthly    touch    of    him,    or 

voice 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  141 

Human,  or  little  laughters  in  the  sun. 

We     by    bereavement    henceforth     are    be- 
trothed, 

Folded  by  aspirations  unfulfilled, 

And  clasped  by  irrecoverable  dreams : 

\_She  falls    with    a    ay    on    his    heart, 
where  he  holds  her  fast.'] 

Last,    by    one    hope    more    deep    than    cer- 
tainty, 

That  though   the  child    shall    not   return  to 
us, 

Yet  shall  we  two  together  go  to  him. 

Miriam.  {^Slowly  taking  his  hand  to  lead 
him.']  Will  you  come  in  with  me  and 
look  at  him .'' 

\_Exeunt  slowly,  ivith  bowed  heads. 


NERO 

BY 

STEPHEN   PHILLIPS 


CHARACTERS 


Nero 

Britannicus 
Otho 
Seneca  . 

BURRUS  . 
TiGELLINUS 

Anicetus 

A  Seaman. 

Parthian  Chief 

British  Chief. 

Xenophon 

Slave  to  Nero. 

Agrippina 

Octavia 

Poppaea 

Acte 

LOCUSTA 

Myrrha 

Handmaidens,  Spies,  etc, 


Emperor  of  Rome. 
Nero's  Half-Brother. 
A  Young  Noble. 

Ministers  of  State. 


A  Physician. 

Nero''s  Mother. 

Sister  to  Britannicus. 

Wife  to  Otho,  afterwards  to  Nero. 

A  Captive  Princess. 

A  Poisoner. 

Maid  to  Poppaea. 


Five  years  elapse  between  Acts  I  and  II;   two  years 
between  Acts  III  and  IV. 


ACT  I 


NERO 

ACT  I 

Scene.  —  The  scene  is  in  the  Great  Hall  in  the 
Palace  oj  the  Caesars.  At  the  back  are  steps 
leading  to  a  platform  with  balustrade  opening 
on  the  air,  and  beyond,  a  view  oj  the 
city. 

[On  the  right  of  the  stage  is  a  cedarn  couch  on 

which    Claudius    is    uneasily    sleeping. 

On  the  right  is  a  door  communicating  with 

the  inner  apartments.     On  the  left  a  door 

communicating  with  the  outer  halls. 
3 


4  NERO  ACT 

[Xenophon  is  standing  by  the  couch  oj 
Claudius.  x\grippina  is  sitting  with 
face  turned  to  an  Astrologer,  who  stands 
at  the  top  oj  the  steps  watching  the 
stars. 

[LocusTA  is  crouching  beside  a  pillar,  right. 
A  meteor  strikes  across  the  sky.  The 
Astrologer,  pointing  upwards,  comes 
down  the  steps  slowly. 

Astrologer.  These  meteors  flame  the 
dazzling  doom  of  kings. 

[Agrippina  rises  apprehensively. 
Xenophon.     Caesar  is  dead ! 
Agrippina.     The  drug  hath  found  his  heart. 
[To  LocusTA,  who  steals  forward. 


I  NERO  5 

Locusta,  take  your  price  and  steal  away ! 
Sound  on  the  trumpet.     Go  !  your  part  is  done. 

\Exit  Locusta. 
\Trumpet  is  sounded. 
That  gives  the  sign  to  the  Praetorians 
Upon  the  instant  of  the  Emperor's  death. 

[^Answering  Trumpets  are  heard. 
Hark !    trumpets    answering   through    all   the 

city. 
Xenophon,  you  and  I  are  in  this  death 
Eternally  bound.     This  husband  have  I  slain 
To  lift  unto  the  windy  chair  of  the  world 
Nero,  my  son.     Your  silence  I  will  buy 

With  endless  riches :   but  a  hint  divulged 

Xenophon.     O    Agrippina,    Empress,    fear 
not  me ! 


6  NERO  ACT 

Agrippina.     Meantime  his   child,  his   heir, 
Britannicus, 
Must  not  be  seen  lest  he  be  clamoured  for. 
So  till  the  sad  Chaldean  give  the  sign 
Of  that  so  yearned  for,  favourable  hour, 
When    with    good  omens    may  my   son    suc- 
ceed, 
The  sudden  death  of  Claudius  must  be  hid ! 
Then  on  the  instant  Nero  be  proclaimed 
And  Rome  awake  on  an  accomplished  deed. 
Xenophon.     Then  summon  Claudius'  musi- 
cians  in 
To  play  unto  the  dead  as  though  he  breathed. 
Agrippina.     Call   them !    A   lulling   music 
let  them  bring.  \Exit  Xenophon. 

\She  turns  to  Astrologer. 


I  NERO  7 

O  thou  who  readest  all  the  scroll  of  the  sky, 
Stands  it  so  sure  Nero  my  son  shall  reign? 

Astrologer.    Nero  shall  reign. 

Agrippina.       What      lurks     behind     these 
words  ? 
There  is  a  'but'  still  hovering  in  the  stars. 

Astrologer.     Nero  shall  reign. 

Agrippina.     The  half!    I'll  know  the  rest. 

Astrologer.     Peer  not  for  peril ! 

Agrippina.  Peril !    His  or  mine  ? 

Astrologer.     Thine  then. 

Agrippina.     I  will  know  all,  however  dark. 
Finish  what  did  so  splendidly  begin. 

Astrologer.    Nero  shall  reign,  but  he  shall 
kill  his  mother. 

Agrippina.     Kill  me,  but  reign  1 


8  NERO  ACT 

Enter  Seneca 

Seneca.  The  trumpet  summoned  me, 

And  I  am  here.  . 

Agrippina.     Seneca  !     Speak  it  low ! 
Caesar  is  dead !     Nero  shall  climb  the  throne. 

Seneca.     I  will  not  ask  the  manner  of  his 
death. 
In  studious  ease  I  have  protested  much 
Against  the  violent  taking  of  a  life. 
But  lost  in  action  I  perceive  at  last 
That  they  who  stand  so  high  can  falter  not, 
But  live  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  blame ; 
That  public  good  excuses  private  guile. 

Agrippina.     You,   Xenophon   and   Burrus, 
stand  with  me. 


I  NERO  9 

Enter  Burrus,  right.     He  salutes  the  corse 
of  Claudius 

Burrus.     Obedient   to   the   trumpet-call   I 

come. 
Agrippina.     Say,  Burrus,  quickly  say,  how 
stands  our  cause 
With  the  Praetorians  who  unmake  and  make 
Emperors  ? 
Burrus.     The  Praetorians  are  staunch. 
And  they  are  marching  now  upon  the  Palace. 
Agrippina.     Will  they  have  Nero? 
Burrus.  Yes,  and  double  pay. 

There  is  a  murmuring  minority 
Who  toss  about  the  name  Britannicus. 
These  may  be  feared ;   let  Nero  scatter  gold 


lo  NERO  ACT 

There  where  dissension  rises  —  it  will  cease. 
Their   signal    when   they   shall    surround    the 

palace, 
The  gleam  of  my  unsheathed  sword  to  the  dawn. 
Agrippina.     Stand  there  until  I  have  from 

him  the  sign, 
Then  let  thy  sword  gleam  upward  to  the  da^^^l. 

[Turning  and  pointing  to  body  0}  Claudius. 
That  is  my  work  !     Also,  I  must  betroth 
Nero  unto  the  young  Octavia, 
And  with  the  dead  man's  daughter  mate  my 

son. 
This  marriage  sets  him  firmer  on  the  throne, 
And  foils  the  party  of  Britannicus. 
[To  BuRRUS.J    You  for  the  army  answerable 

stand. 


I  NERO  II 

\To  Seneca.]    And,  Seneca.,  I  have  entrusted 

Nero's  mind 
To  vou,  to  point  an  eaglet  to  the  sun. 
Nero?     What  does  he? 

Seneca.  Nero  knows  not  yet 

That  Claudius  is  dead.     Rome  hath  not  slept, 
But  to  the  torch-ht  circus  all  have  run 
To  see  him  victor  in  a  chariot  race, 
Whence  he  is  now  returning.     A  night  race 
By  burning  torches  is  his  newest  whim. 
Agrippina.     a  torch-lit  race !     And  yet  why 

not?     My  child 
Should  climb  all  virgin  to  the  throne  of  the 

earth, 
Not  conscious  of  spilt  blood :   and  I  meantime 
Will  sway  the  deep  heart  of  the  mighty  world. 


12  NERO  ACT 

The  peril  is  Britamiicus :   for  Nero, 

Careless  of  empire,  strings  but  verse  to  verse. 

How  shall  this  dove  attain  the  eagle  cry? 

Seneca.     Be  not  so  sure  of  Nero's  harmless- 
ness. 

Agrippina.     What  do  you  mean? 

Seneca.  By  me  he  has  been  taught, 

And  I  have  watched  him.     True,  the  harp,  the 

song, 
The  theatre,  delight  this  dreamer :  true. 
He  lives  but  in  imaginations :  yet 
Suppose  this  aesthete  made  omnipotent, 
Feeling  there  is  no  bar  he  cannot  break, 
Knowing  there  is  no  bound  he  cannot  pass; 
Might  he  not  then  despise  the  written  page, 
A  petty  music,  and  a  puny  scene? 


I  NERO  13 

Conceive  a  spectacle  not  witnessed  yet, 

When  he,  an  artist  in  omnipotence, 

Uses  for  colour  this  red  blood  of  ours, 

Composes  music  out  of  dreadful  cries. 

His  orchestra  our  human  agonies, 

His  rhythms  lamentations  of  the  ruined. 

His  poet's  fire  not  circumscribed  by  words. 

But  now  translated  into  burning  cities. 

His  scenes  the  lives  of  men,  their  deaths  a 

drama, 
His  dream  the  desolation  of  mankind, 
And  all  this  pulsing  world  his  theatre. 

\Steps  heard  without. 
The  dead  man's  children  startled  from  their 

sleep  1 
Britannicus,  Octa\da,  wondering. 


14  NERO  ACT 

Agrippina.     Till  the  auspicious  hour  he  is 
not  dead. 

OcTAViA  and  Britannicus  enter 

OcTAViA.     We  could  not   sleep :    father  is 
very  sick. 
We    fancied    every    moment    that    he    called 
us. 
Britannicus.     And  then  these  meteors  full 

of  coming  woe 

OcTAViA.     So  brilliant  and  so  silent !     O,  I 

fear  them. 
Britannicus.     Is   father  yet   awake?    We 
want  to  ask  him  — 
[They  approach  the  couch.     Agrippina 
interposes. 


I  NERO  15 

Agrippina.     Do  not  disturb  your  father  for 

this  night. 
OcTAViA.     We  will  not  speak,  nor  make  the 
smallest  sound 
To  wake  him.     We  must  kiss  him  ere  we  sleep. 
Agrippina.     Children,  he  is  in  need  of  some 
long  rest. 
Go  back  to  bed :  your  father  sleepeth  sound. 
Britannicus.     I  will  go  in  to  him,  I  will  — 
and  you 
Are  not  our  mother.     By  what  privilege 
Do  you  thus  interpose  yourself  between 
A  father  and  his  children  ? 

Agrippina.  Would  you  then 

Trouble  him,  when  to  sleep  is  all  he  asks? 
Octavia.    Only  a  moment !    But  to  see  him  ! 


i6  NERO  ACT 

Agrippina  .  No ! 

Come    softly    back    to  bed  !    no  —  no  —  this 

way ! 
Britannicus,  with  the  first  peer  of  light 
You  shall  behold  your  father;   but  not  now. 
So  the  physician,  Xenophon,  enjoined  me. 
Now  take  Octavia's  hand  —  so,  both  of  you. 

[OcTAViA  holds  her  face  to  be  kissed. 
To-night  I  think  I  will  not  kiss  you,  child. 
Good-night,  good-night. 

[Exit  OcTAviA  and  Britannicus. 
Seneca.  How  often  have  I  taught 

And  written,  '  Children  shall  not  be  beguiled 
Even    for   good    ends.'     And    yet,  the    single 

lie 
Must,  for  the  general  good,  be  spoken ;  yet 


NERO  17 

[Musicians  meanwhile  have  entered,  aiid 

are  playing  dreamy  music.     Agrippina 

turns  to  Astrologer,   holding  out  her 

arms. 

Agrippixa.     How  long  till  Rome  shall  greet 

her  Emperor  ? 

Astrologer.     Behold    the    heavens !    The 

moment ! 

[Exit  Astrologer. 

Agrippina.  Give  the  sign  ! 

[Sounds    of    acclamation    and     cries     0} 

'Nero.'       BuRRUS  draws  his  sword. 

BuRRUS.     See  the  Praetorians ! 

Seneca.  Nero  returns. 


l8  NERO  ACT 

Enter  a  Herald  gorgeously  dressed,  hear- 
ing a  silver  wreath. 

Messenger.     From   Nero   unto   Agrippina 
greeting ! 
He  comes  a  victor  from  the  chariot  race. 

[Sounds   of  acclamation   grow  louder,   the 

crowd  of  Nero's  friends  and    satellites 

pours  in:    last  comes  Nero  dressed  as 

a  charioteer. 

Agrippina.     [Touching    Claudius'    body.] 

That  music  be  a  dirge :   Caesar  is  dead. 

[Nero  pauses  wondering. 
Claudius  is  dead.     Reign  thou.     Ave  Caesar ! 
[BuRRUS  leads  Nero  to  back  of  platform, 
and  addresses  the  soldiers  at  back. 


t  NERO  19 

BuRRUS.     Caesar  is  dead  !     Behold  Caesar  ! 
\A    great  shout  0}  'Nero!'      'Caesar!' 
Meanwhile  Agrippina  and  Seneca  are 
listening  close  together.     Discordant  cries 
are   heard  of   '  Britannicus  ! '     A  slave 
or  attendant  on  Nero  scatters  gold  in  the 
direction  0}  these  discordant  cries,  which 
gradually   subside,  and  are  lost   in   one 
long  shout  oj  'Nero,  IniperatorJ     Nero 
motions  for  silence. 
Nero.     [Turning    to    Court.]     Behold    this 
forest  of  uprisen  spears, 
Symbol  of  might !     But  I  upon  that  might 
Would  not  rely.     You  hail  me  Emperor  — 
Then  hail  me  as  an  Emperor  of  peace. 
First,  I  declare  divinest  clemency. 


20  NERO  ACT 

No   deaths   have   I    to   avenge,    no   wrath    to 

bribe, 
No  desperate  followers  clamouring  for  spoil; 
Pardon  from  me  may  beautifully  fall. 
Next,  I  bestow  full  liberty  of  speech; 
I  will  not  sway  a  dumb  indignant  earth  — 
Emperor  over  the  unuttered  curse. 
Were  I  myself  the  mark,  I  will  not  flinch. 
Yet  citizens,  if  freedom  of  the  tongue 
I  grant,  I'd  wish  less  freedom  of  the  feast. 
Then  all  informers  who  he  life  away 
I'll  heavily  chastise ;  let  no  man  think 
With  hinted  scandal  to  employ  mine  ear. 
Last,  over  all  my  earth  be  perfect  trust, 
That  every  tribe  and  people,  dusk  or  pale, 
Legions  extreme  and  farthest  provinces, 


I  NERO  21 

May  know  that  this  my  hand  which  striketh 

down 
The  oppressor  and  the  tyrant  from  his  seat 
Shall  raise  the  afflicted  and  exalt  the  meek. 
And  if  this  burden  grow  too  vast  at  times, 
Then,  mother,  teach  thy  son  to  bear  the  load. 

\Exit  Court. 
Agrippina.  [Rushing  to  embrace  him.  He 
is  vested  with  the  purple  and  laurel  wreath. 
The  body  0}  Claudius  is  borne  off.  Exit 
BuRRUS.  'Nero  comes  down.]  Nero,  thou 
art  my  son ! 
Nero.  To  rule  the  world. 

How  heavy  is  the  sceptre  of  the  earth  ! 
Agrippina.     [Coming  down.]    Nero,   upon 
this  arm   behold  I  clasp 


22  NERO  ACT 

This  amulet.     One  dawn  two  murderers 
Despatched  to  kill  thee,  stealing  to  thy  bed 
Were  frightened  by  a  snake  which  from  be- 
neath 
Thy  pillow  glided.     From  that  serpent's  skin 
I  made  this  charm.     Wear  it,  and  thou  shalt 

prosper ; 
But  lose  it,  look  thou  for  calamities. 
Seneca.     [Prepares  to  go  also.']    You   will 

need  sleep,  sir,  for  to-morrow's  task. 
Nero.     \In  terror. \    I  am  not  pale?     Not 

heavy-eyed  ? 
Seneca.  No  !    No  ! 

Nero.     An  artist,  whatsoever  mood  he  rouse 
In  others,  should  himself  be  ever  still. 
Where  is  a  mirror? 


I  NERO  23 

Seneca.  Sir,  one  graver  word. 

To-morrow  when  you  first  shall  sit  in  judg- 
ment, 
And  set  your  name  unto  the  scroll  of  death  — 
Nero.     [Gazing  at  himself  in  mirror.]    Ah! 
Must    I    sign    death-warrants?    Then    I 
wish 
This  hand  had  never  learned  to  write. 

Seneca.  Dear  pupil ! 

Agrippina.    Your    pupil    now    the    awful 
purple  wears. 
You  tremble  but  to  grasp  the  pen !     But  they 
Who  dyed  it  thus,  feared  not  to  grip  the  brand. 
Nero.    [Again  looking  in  mirror.]     It  is  an 
act  to  me  unbeautiful. 
To  scatter  joy,  not  sadness,  was  I  born. 


24  NERO  ACT 

Agrippina.     It  is  an  act  to  you  most  neces- 
sary, 
If  you  would  sit  secure  where  I  have  set  you. 
Now  the  light  things  of  boyhood,  toys  of  youth, 
Unworthy  that  stern  seat,  you  must  discard. 
Acte,  the  playmate  of  those  careless  hours. 
Henceforth  must  be  forgotten :    you  shall  wed 
A  royal  consort  —  young  Octavia, 
The  child  of  Claudius,  of  the  imperial  Hne. 

Seneca.     My  peaceful  counsel  you  will  not 
forget. 

Nero.     [Turning  to  Seneca,  ajjectionately.] 
Old  friend,  I  am  not  hke  to  wade  in  blood. 
Thee  at  my  side !    I  think  upon  the  dooms 
Of  Juhus,  Caius,  and  Tiberius, 
All  Emperors  —  all  miserably  slain. 


I  NERO  25 

Seneca.     This  dawn  art  thou  the  master  of 
the  world; 
Then  tremble  at  the  task  to  thee  assigned. 
Meekly  receive  the  purple  and  the  wreath, 
And  on  thy  knees  accept  omnipotence. 
Good-night,    dear   pupil!     May   my   teaching 

lead 
Thy  solemn  opportunity  aright ! 

\Exit  Seneca. 
Nero.     You  powers  sustain  me  to  endure 
this  weight ! 
Mother,  I  shall  go  mad ! 

Agrippina.  Not  while  this  hand 

Is  on  thy  brow,  and  this  voice  in  thine  ear. 
Nero.     To  rule  the  world ! 
Agrippina.        We  two  will  rule  the  world. 


26  NERO  ACT 

Nero.     We  two? 

Agrippina.     When  you  have  need  of  me, 

then  call  me. 
Nero.     I   ever  shall.     I  need  you   at  this 
moment 
More  even  than  when  my  toothless  gums  did 

fumble 
About  thy  breast  in  darkness  of  the  night. 
Agrippina.     My    dear,    dear    son !      And 
Nero,  well  I  know 
That  you  could  never  hurt  or  injure  me. 
But  you  will  not  forget  who  set  you  here  — 
You  will  not,  tell  me? 

Nero.  Never,  mother,  never ! 

Agrippina.         Mothers    for   children   have 
dared  much,  and  more 


I  NERO  27 

Have  suffered ;  but  what  mother  hath  so  scarred 
Her  soul  for  the  dear  fruit  of  her  body  as  I  ? 
Thy  birth-pang  was  the  least  of  all  the  throes 
That  I  for  thee  have  suffered  —  a  brief  pain, 
A  little,  Httle  pain  we  share  with  creatures; 
But  what  was  this  to  torments  of  the  mind, 
The  dark,  imperial  meditations. 
Musing  with  eyes  half-closed  in  moonless  night ; 
The  crimes  —  yes,  crimes,  the  blood  that  has 

been  spilt  — 
Why,  I  have  made  a  way  for  thee  through 

ghosts. 
Nero,  you'll  not  forget? 

Nero.  Ah !     Never,  never ! 

Agrippesta.     My  son,  this  very  night  it  was 

foretold 


28  NERO  ACT 

'Nero  shall  reign,  but  he  shall  kill  his  mother.' 
Tell  me  the  stars  have  lied. 

Nero.     YSmiling.^  The  stars  have  lied. 

Enter  Burrus 

BuRRUS.     The  pass-word,  sir,  to-night? 
Nero.  The  best  of  mothers. 

Agrippina.     Kiss  me;    we  both  of  us  must 
sleep  awhile. 

\Exit  Agrippina.     Nero  goes  up,  gazing 
out  on  the  city  as  the  dawn  comes  on 
greyly. 
Nero.     O  all  the  earth  to-night  into  these 
hands 
Committed !    I  bow  down  beneath  the  load, 
Empurpled  in  a  lone  omnipotence. 


1  NERO  29 

My  softest  whisper  thunders  in  the  sky, 
And  in  my  frown  the  temples  sway  and  reel, 
And  the  utmost   isles   are   anguished.     I   but 

raise 
An  eyelid,  and  a  continent  shall  cower ; 
My  finger  makes  the  city  a  solitude. 
The  murmuring  metropoUs  a  silence, 
And  kingdoms  pine  in  my  dispeopling  nod. 
I  can  dispearl  the  sea,  a  province  wear 
Upon  my  little  finger;    all  the  ^Ainds 
Are  busy  blowing  odours  in  mine  eyes, 
And  I  am  wrapt  in  glory  by  the  sun, 
And  I  am  Ut  by  splendours  of  the  moon. 
And  diadem 'd  by  ghttering  midnight. 
O  ^^ine  of  the  world,  the  odour  and  gold  of  iti 
There  is  no  thirst  which  I  may  not  assuage; 


30  NERO  ACT 

There  is  no  hunger  which  I  may  not  sate ; 

Naught  is  forbidden  me  under  heaven ! 

\With  a  cry.]    I  shall  go  mad!    I  shall  go 
mad ! 

[AcTE  steals  in  noiselessly,  and  waits  till 
he  turns,  then  comes  down  to  him. 

My  Acte ! 
AcTE.     [Shrinking.]    O,  I  seem  so  far  from 
you, 

And   so  beneath  you  now;  your  care  hence- 
forth 

The  world  and  nothing  less.     Long  have  you 
been 

Nero  to  me,  but  Caesar  must  be  now, 

High  throned,  the  nations  crawling  at  your  feet. 

And  yet  be  sure  that  if  on  some  far  day 


I  NERO  31 

The   throne   should    pass    from   you ;     if   you 

should  stand 
Lonely  at  last;   your  friends  all  fallen  away 
From  you ;   the  laurel  upon  other  brows 
Set ;  were  you  dyed  in  blood  deep  as  the  robe 
That  folds  you  ;  were  you  dead  in  rags  reposing, 
Yet  would  I  find  you,  cover  up  your  face, 
Taking  the  last  kiss  from  your  Hps,  and  I 
Would  gently  bury  you  within  the  earth. 
Nero.    x\h ! 
AcTE.     And   though  none  came  nigh  you, 

being  dead, 
Who  were  in  life  so  thronged  about  and  pressed. 
One  hand  at  least  would  duly  pluck  you  flowers, 
One  hand  at  least  would  strew  them  on  your 

grave. 


32  NERO  ACT 

Sleep  now,   and   I   will   charm   these  eyes  to 
close. 

\She  takes  a  harp,  and  as  she  plays  Nero 
drops  off  to  sleep.  She,  seeing  him  so, 
softly  kisses  him  and  noiselessly  disap- 
pears. Meanwhile  Nero  turns  un- 
easily in  his  sleep,  and  a  procession  of 
dead  Emperors  passes  —  Julius,  cover- 
ing his  face,  but  withdrawing  his  cloak 
to  gaze  a  while  on  Nero;  Tiberius; 
Caius  wounded;  Claudius  holding  a 
cup.  Nero  rushes  forward,  uttering 
a  cry.  Acte  again  re-enters  at  the 
sound. 

Nero,  what  ails  you?     Nero,  how  the  drops 

Stand  on  your  brow  ! 


I  NERO  33 

Nero.  There,  there,  I   seemed  to  see 

As  in  procession  the  dead  Emperors : 
JuHus,  Tiberius,  Caius,  Claudius, 
All  bloody,  and  all  pacing  that  same  path. 
AcTE.     \Trying  to  lead  him  on  the  opposite 
way.]     There  is  another  path,  will  you  but 
take  it. 

[Nero  is  led  by  her  a  little  way,  then  hesi- 
tates, still  gazing  after  the  procession  of 
Emperors.  Gradually  he  looses  Acte's 
hand,  and  she  leaves  him,  gazing. 


ACT  II 


ACT   II 

Scene.  —  The  same,  hut  signs  of  excessive  luxury 
and  projusion.  Rich  carpets,  gilded  pillars,  etc. 
As  the  scene  opens,  strange  oriental  music  is 
heard,  with  singing.  Girls  enter  slowly  and 
place  wreaths  round  the  various  statues  of 
Nero,  who  is  depicted  now  as  Apollo  singing, 
now  as  a  charioteer. 

[AcTE  is  reclining  on  a  couch.  The  time  is 
broad  noon.  A  faint  exotic  odour  pervades 
the  palace. 

1ST  Maiden.     O  Lydia,  I  am  drowsing,  and 

my  hands 

Can  scarcely  wreathe  the  Emperor  as  x\pollo. 
37 


38  NERO  ACT 

2ND    Maiden.     Ah,    crown    this    carefully! 
To-day  he  sings 
In  public;   as  Apollo  will  return 
So  cro^vned,  so  garbed. 

1ST  Maiden.      How    is    that    wreath  dis- 
posed ? 
2ND  Maiden.     Excellent ! 
3RD  Maiden.     O  please  tell  me  how  to  droop 
These  scarlet  flowers. 

2ND  Maiden.     About  the  lyre  then,  thus. 
4TH    Maiden.     This    bust    now    of    the 

Emperor  as  a  boy? 
1ST  Maiden.     O,  covered  with  white  flowers 

and  birds  of  spring. 
5TH  Maiden.     This  charioteer:   with  green 
I  have  dressed  that. 


11  NERO  39 

3RD  Maiden.     Yes,  for  the  Emperor's  col- 
our  is  the  green. 
1ST    Maiden.      Now    all    the    busts    are 

wreathed. 
2ND  Maiden.  What  more  to  do? 

1ST  Maiden.     All  is  arranged.     How  heavy 

are  my  eyes. 
3RD  Maiden.     And  this  low  music  on  my 

spirit  hangs. 
4TH  Maiden.     And  the  faint  odour  steals 

upon  my  hair. 
1ST  Maiden.     [Moving  up  and  leaning  out.] 

See,  all  the  city  is  a  solitude. 
2ND  Maiden.     All  Rome  is  gathered  in  the 

theatre 
To  hear  the  Emperor  sing. 


40  NERO  ACT 

5TH  Maiden.  O,  I  should  sleep 

On  such  a  noon,  in  such  a  throng. 

1ST  Maiden.  That  sleep 

Would  have  no  wakening,   if  your  eyes  but 

closed 
While  Caesar  sang. 

4TH  Maiden.        To-night  there  is  a  feast. 
Have  you  remembered  ? 

3RD  Maiden.  Yes,  the  dancing  girls 

From  Egypt  are  arrived. 

1ST  Maiden.  We  are  to  strew 

Do\STi    from    the   ceiling    flowers    upon    the 
guests. 

\They  recline  in  various  attitudes  about  the 
seats  and  pilars. 


n  NERO  41 

Enter  Seneca  and  Burrus 
BuRRUS.     Ah,  Seneca,  five  years  since  Nero 
climbed 
The  throne:   and  in  this  ver}-  chamber,  now 
So    changed,    this    odour  —  pah!     This    was 

the  place. 
Grim,  bare,  for  mihtar}-  virtues  apt. 

Seneca.     .\nd  he  how  changed !    The  boy 
who  dream.ed  so  high 
Of  mightiest  empire  and  unmeasured  peace, 
All  I  had  taught  him  lost;  by  flatter}'  sapped, 
Jewelled  and  clothed  as  from  the  Orient, 
He  sings    and    struts   with  dancers   and   buf- 
foons. 
AcTE.     [Starting  up.]   And  you,  when  have 
you  two  dissuaded  him? 


42  NERO  ACT 

Or  when  forbidden  ?     Do  you  teach  him  shun 
Languor  or  luxury?     You  lure  him  thither. 
Seneca.  'Tis  true  that  we  have  not  dissuaded 
him, 
But  out  of  high  deliberate  policy 
Have  suffered  him  to  tread  the  path  of  folly 
Rather  than  mischief.     We  have  ruled  the  world 
With  wisdom  these  five  years    while   he  has 
played. 
AcTE.     What    of    Poppaea,     Otho's    wife. 
Have  you 
Restrained  that  madness?    Rather  have  you 

not 
Screened  it  and  fed  it? 

Seneca.  With  the  same  design; 

Better  that  he  should  vent  his  madness  thus 


n  NERO  43 

In  pastime  to  the  State  not  perilous, 
Amuse  himself  with  her  rather  than  Rome. 
AcTE.     A  woman  without  pity,  beautiful. 
She  makes  the  earth  we  tread  on  false,   the 

heaven 
A  merest  mist,  a  vapour.     Yet  her  face 
Is  as  the  face  of  a  child  uplifted,  pure ; 
But   plead  with    lightning   rather  than    those 

eyes, 
Or  earthquake  rather  than  that  gentle  bosom 
Rising  and  falhng  near  thy  heart.     Her  voice 
Comes  running  on  the  ear  as  a  ri\ailet ; 
Yet  if  you  hearken,  you  shall  hear  behind 
The  breaking  of  a  sea  whose  waves  are  souls 
That  break  upon  a  human-cr}-ing  beach. 
Ever  she  smileth,  yet  hath  never  smiled, 


44  NERO  ACT 

And  in  her  lovely  laughter  is  no  joy. 
Yet  hath  none  fairer  strayed  into  the  world 
Or  wandered  in  more  witchery  through  the  air 
Since    she    who    drew  the  dreaming  keels  of 

Greece 
After  her  over  the  Ionian  foam. 

BuRRUS.     Better   an    Emperor  fooled  than 

Rome  undone ! 
AcTE.     Though  all  unite  to  drive  him  to  his 
doom, 
Yet  I  will  not  forsake  him  till  he  die. 

\Exit  AcTE. 

[Meanwhile  there  is  an  uneasy  movement 

among  the  Girls,  as  at  the  approach  of 

something  sinister.     Tigellinus  enters, 

gasping. 


II  NERO  45 

TiGELLiNUS.    [Looking  after  Acte.]   She  is 

a  Christian ! 
BuRRUS.  Tigellinus ! 

TiGELLINUS.  I 

Come  from  the  theatre.     For  three  hours  have 

sat 
In  the  first  bench,  and  feared  to  wink  or  cough. 
The  Emperor  sang,  and  had  for  audience 
The  flower  of  Rome.     In  torment  did  we  sit, 
Nobles  and  consuls,  captains,  senators, 
Bursting  to  laugh  and  aching  but  to  smile. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  Emperor's  voice, 
But  no  man  ventured  to  relax  his  lips. 
And  all  around  were  those  who  peered  or  crept, 
Inspecting  each  man's  face,  noting  his  look. 
To  sigh  was  treason  and  to  laugh  was  death, 


46  NERO  ACT 

And  yet  none  dared  be  absent:  how  were  you 
Excused  ? 

BuRRUS.     I  pleaded  the  old  wound. 

Seneca.  And  I 

Reception  of   the  Parthian  and    the    Briton. 

TiGELLINUS.  I 

Say  not  so  much  against  his  moody  freaks, 
But  to  be  called  from  bed  to  hear  him  sing  — 
O,  I  must  have  my  sleep  at  night  —  well,  well  — 
To  graver  things.     Still  the  conspiracy 
Of  Agrippina  swells:    she  aims  to  make 
Her  son  a  toy,  a  puppet,  while  she  pulls 
Unseen  the  secret  strings  of   policy. 
Seneca.     Is't  not  enough  to  bear  upon  her 
back 
Stripped  continents  ?   To  clasp  about  her  throat 


II  NERO  47 

A  civilisation  in  a  sapphire,  or 

That    kingdoms    gleam    and    glow    upon   her 

brow. 
Now  doth  she  overstar  us  hke  the  night 
In  splendour.     Now  she  rises  on  our   eyes 
Da\Miing  in  gold;   or  like  the  blaze  of  noon 
Taketh  our  breath  on  a  sudden ;  or  she  glides 
Silent,  from  head  to  foot  a  glimmering  pearl. 
But  this  is  woman's  business:    'tis  not  so 
To  listen  screened  to  the  ambassadors, 
To  ride  abroad  with  Nero  charioted, 
Or  wear  her  head  upon  the  public  coins. 
TiGELLixus.     And  she  intends  this  very  day 
to  hear 
The  Briton,  seated  by  the  Emperor' s  side. 
Otho  has  joined  her  too. 


48  NERO  ACT 

Seneca.  But  from  what  cause? 

TiGELLiNUS.     He  is  married. 

BuRRUS.  Ah,  Poppaea! 

TiGELLiNus.  Jealousy 

Hath  driven  him  into  Agrippina's  snare. 
Fury  at  Nero's  madness  for  his  wife. 
Now  what  if  we  could  raise  Poppaea  up" 
As  Agrippina's  chief  antagonist: 
We  match  the  mistress  'gainst  the  mother —  pit 
Passion  'gainst  gratitude  —  a  sudden  lure 
'Gainst  old  ascendency,  the  noon  of  beauty 
Against  the  evening  of  authority, 
The  luring  whisper  'gainst  the  pleading  voice, 
The  hand  that  beckons  'gainst  the  arm  that 

sways. 
And  set  a  woman  to  defeat  a  woman. 


II  NERO  49 

To  Nero  I  have  whispered  that  she  dotes 
Upon  his  poems,  on  his  rhythm  hangs 
And  cannot  sleep  for  beauty  of  his  verse. 
Seneca.     This    day   must    Nero    leave    his 
mother's  lap, 
And  stand  up  as  an  Emperor,  and  alone. 

\T  rum  pet. 
BuRRUS.  Hark  !  Caesar  is  returning. 
\Sounds  heard  of  Nero  approaching  amid 
cries  of  'O  thou  A  polio  T  'Orpheus  come 
again ! '  Then  enter  Nero  with  a  group 
of  satellites,  Tigellinus,  Otho,  and  pro- 
fessional applauders  and  spies.  His  dress 
is  of  extreme  oriental  richness,  and  profuse 
in  jewels:  his  hair  elaborately  curled.  He 
carries  an  emerald  eye-glass,  and  appears 

E 


50  NERO  ACT 

]a'mt  from  the  exertion  of  singing,  from 

which  contest  he  has  just  come. 

Nero.     This  languor  is  the  penalty  the  gods 

Exact  from  those  whom  they  have  gifted  high. 

Seneca.    [Coming  forward.]   Sir,  late  arrived 

from  Parthia  and  Britain  — 
Nero.     [Starting  up.]    A  draught ! 

[Much  hurry,  zeal,  and  confusion   among 
courtiers. 
This  kerchief  closer  round  my  throat ! 

[They  tie  a  kerchief  round  his  throat. 
Was  I  in  voice  to-day  ?     The  prize  is  won, 
But  I  would  be  my  own  competitor 
And  my  own  rival.     Was  I  then  in  voice? 
Chorus.     O  Memnon  struck  with  morning, 
nightingale, 


II  NERO  51 

Ghost-charming  Orpheus,  O  Apollo  —  god  ! 

Satellite.     O  Caesar,  I  am  one  who  speaks 
right  out; 
If   it   means   death,    yet    must    I    speak    the 

truth. 
Thy  voice  was  harsh. 

Nero.  Was  it  so,  friend? 

Satellite.     Harsh  and  uncertain.     Had  it 
been  another 
Who  sang,  it  would  have  ravished  every  ear, 
But  thee  must  I  remember  at  thy  best, 
And  what  in  others  we  count  excellence 
In  thee  we  count  a  lapse,  and  falling  off. 

Nero.     There's  a  good  fellow ! 

Seneca.  Caesar ! 

Nero.  But  a  moment ! 


52  NERO  ACT 

1ST  Spy.    [Stealing  forward.]  Licinius  smiled, 

sir,  at  thy  final  note. 
Nero.    Nothing  !  an  artist  must  bear  ridicule. 
Were  I  incensed,  I  were  ridiculous 
Myself. 

1ST  Spy.     Shall  nothing  then  be  done? 
Nero.  Nothing ! 

2ND  Spy.     [Stealing  jorward.]   Sir,  Labienus, 
in  thy  second  song 
Coughed  t\\ice. 
Another  Spy.     [Cringing.]    Nay,   Caesar, 

thrice. 
2ND  Spy.     What  punishment? 
Nero.     None !    Interruption  must  I  learn 
to  bear. 
What  patience  must  we  own  who  would  excel ! 


II  NERO  53 

Anger  I  never  must  permit  myself, 
Or  ruffling  littleness  to  this  great  soul. 

3RD    Spy.     [Creeping   forward.]     Sir,    Titus 
Cassius  yawned  while  thou  didst  sing. 

4TH  Spy.     Nay,  Caesar,  worse,  he  slept,  and 
must  he  live? 

Nero.    [Gently.]  No!   he  must   die:    there 
is  no  hope  in  sleep. 
Witness,  you  gods,  who  sent  me  on  the  earth 
To  be  a  joy  to  men :  and  witness  you 
Who  stand  around :  if  ever  a  small  malice 
Hath  governed  me :  what  critic  have  I  feared  ? 
What  rival  ?     Have  I  used  this  mighty  throne 
To  baulk  opinion  or  suppress  dissent? 
Have  I  not  toiled  for  art,  forsworn  food,  sleep, 
And  laboured  day  and  night  to  win  the  crown, 


54  NERO  ACT 

Lying  with  weight  of  lead  upon  my  chest? 
Ye  gods,  there  is  no  rancour  in  this  soul. 

\Thunder. 
Silence  while  I  am  speaking.     He  must  die, 
Because  he  is  unmindful  of  your  gifts 
And  of  the  golden  voice  on  me  bestowed. 
To  me  no  credit ;   and  he  shall  not  die 
Hopeless,  for  ere  he  die  I'll  sing  to  him 
This  night,  that  he  may  pass  away  in  music. 
How  foolish  will  he  peer  amid  the  shades 
When  Orpheus  asks,  'Hast  thou  heard  Nero 

sing  ? ' 
If  he  must  answer  '  No  ! '    I  would  not  have  him 
Arrive  ridiculous  amid  the  dead. 

Seneca.     Caesar,    the    Parthian    and    the 

British  chiefs. 


11  NERO  55 

Nero.     I  cannot,   sirs,  so  suddenly  return 
Unto  life's  drear}^  business,  or  descend 
Out  of  the  real  to  the  unreal :  from  that 
Which  is  to  that  which  is  not.     Leave  me  still. 
From  art  to  empire  is  too  swift  a  drop. 

Otho.     Now  what  to  do?     Still  drags  the 
o'erlong  day. 
We  have  driven,  we  have  eaten,  we  have  drunk. 
But  all  the  brilliance  is  a  burden  still. 

Anicetus.     No  cloud  upon  the  noon  of  this 
despair. 
O  for  some  edge,  some  thrill  unknown  ! 

LucAN.  Remorse  ? 

[Nero  shakes  his  head. 

Seneca.     Jealousy  then? 

Nero.  No,  no  —  we  have  outlived 


56  NERO  ACT 

All  passions:    terror  now  alone  is  left  us. 
I  have  within  me  great  capacities 
For  terror :  fear,  the  last,  the  greatest  passion ! 

Otho.     Can  one  rely  on  death  for  something 
new? 
Some  other  life  perhaps. 

Seneca.  The  gods  forbid  ! 

The  Power  that  sent  us  here  would  lead  us  there. 
One  sample  is  enough. 

LucAN.  Death's  a  dull  business, 

Of  that  one  may  be  sure.     What  says  the  poet  ? 
'When  I  am  dead,  let  fire  devour  the  world.' 

[Nero  starts  at  these  words  and  comes  among 
them. 

Nero.     Nay,  while  I  live !    The  sight !    A 
burning  world ! 


11  NERO  57 

And  to  be  dead  and  miss  it !    Tliere's  an  end 
Of  all  satiety :    such  fire  imagine ! 
Born  in  some  obscure  alley  of  the  poor 
Then  leaping  to  embrace  a  splendid  street, 
Palaces,  temples,  morsels  that  but  whet 
Her  appetite:    the  eating  of  huge  forests: 
Then  with  redoubled  fury  rushing  high, 
Smacking  her  lips  over  a  continent, 
And  Hcking  old  civihsations  up ! 
Then  in  tremendous  battle  fire  and  sea 
Joined:    and  the  ending  of  the  mighty  sea: 
Then  heaven  in  conflagration,  stars  Hke  cin- 
ders 
Falling  in  tempest :    then  the  reeUng  poles 
Crash :  and  the  smouldering  firmament  subsides, 
And  last,  this  universe  a  single  flame ! 


58  NERO  ACT 

[Otho,  seeing  the  steward  and  musician, 
who  have  entered,  speaks. 
Otho.  Nothing  is  left  us  but  to  eat  and  drink. 
[Takes  hill  of  fare  which  the  steward  passes 
to  him. 
Nero.    The  feast ! 

[Takes  bill  of  fare  from  Otho. 
You  understand  that  in  the  perfect  feast 
To  please  the  palate  only  is  not  art, 
But  we  should  minister  to  the  eye  and  the  ear 
With  colour  and  with  music.     Introduce 
The  embattled  oysters  with  a  melody 
Of  waves  that  wash  a  reef  —  whence  do  they 
come? 
Steward.     From  Britain,  sir. 
Nero.  Perhaps  an  angrier  chord 


U  NERO  59 

Of  island  surf  might  be  permitted  then. 
From  Britain?     Now  I  see  thy  uses,  Britain. 
Britain  is  justified :  she  gives  us  oysters, 
And  therefore  Claudius  invaded  her. 
Sausages  upon  silver  gridirons? 

Steward.  Yes. 

Nero.     Dormice    with    poppies    and    milk 
honey?     There 
A  slumberous  music,  heavy  lingering  chords. 
Ah!  shces  of  pomegranate  underneath. 
Snow  —  purest  snow  of  course. 

Steward.  'Twas  not  forgot. 

Nero.     Then    glorying    peacocks:    here    a 
sounding  march. 
Something  triumphal  —  even  a  tritlc  loud. 
And,  ah  !  the  mullets  !   You  remembered  them? 


6o  NERO  ACT 

Steward.     O  Caesar,  yes. 
Nero.  Let  the^e  be  introduced 

By  some  low  dirge.     And  let  us  see  them  die  — 
Slow  dying  mullets  within  crystal  bowls, 
Dying  from  colour  unto  colour:   now 
Vermilion  death-pangs  fading  into  blue  — 
A  scarlet  agony  in  azure  ending. 
There  we  have  colour  !    And  at  last  the  tongues 
Of    nightingales  —  the    tongues    of    nightin- 
gales ? 
O,  silence  with  the  tongues  of  nightingales. 
\Re  dismisses  Steward.  ] 
TiGELLiNUS.     Sir,  grant  us  three  a  moment's 
audience. 

[Nero  dismisses  friends  and  satellites  with 
gesture. 


n  NERO  6i 

Seneca.     Your  mother,   sir,   this  very  day 
intends 
To  hear  the  British  chiefs  in  audience, 
Sitting    beside    you.      Know    then    that    the 

world 
Will  not  endure  to  have  a  woman's  rule. 
BuRRUS.     No,   nor  the  army. 
TiGELLiNUS.  And  thy  mother  laughs 

In  public  at  thy  verse. 

Nero.  She  has  no  ear. 

I  pity  her  —  remember  what  she  loses. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Ah,  be  not  laughed  at,  sir,  be 
it  not  said 
Nero  is  tied  unto  his  mother's  robe. 
Be  brilliant,  cruel,  lustful,  what  you  will, 
But  not  a  naughty  child,  rated   and  slapped. 


62  NERO  ACT 

Poppaea  too,  she  will  not  suffer  you 
With  her  to  indulge  your  fancy. 

Seneca.  Caesar,  rise! 

BuRRUS.     Rise  —  rise,  and  reign ! 

TiGELLiNUS.  And  be  no  more  a  doll 

That    dances    while  she  pulls  the    string    be- 
hind. 
Then  young  Britannicus ! 

Nero.  O  nothing ! 

TiGELLINUS.  Yet 

He  is  winning  on  the  people :  he  hath  charm, 
His  voice  is  sweet. 

[Nero  starts. 
Caesar,  I  judge  it  not, 
But  speak    the    common   drift;    and   his    re- 
cital, 


11  NERO  63 

So  I  am  told,  has  for  accompaniment 
Gesture  most  eloquent. 

[Nero  is  more  and  more  roused. 
His  poems,  too! 
Nero.    [Breaking  the  silence.']     His  poems  ! 
Why,  why,  not  a  Une  will  scan 
To  the  true  ear;  and  what  variety, 
I    ask    you     all  —  what     flow,     or  what    re- 
source 
Is  shown  ?     A  safe  monotony  of  rhythm  ! 

\He  paces  to  and  fro  angrily. 
TiGELLiNUS.    Caesar,  I  cannot  speak  to  such 
a  theme. 
Merely  Rome's  mouthpiece. 

Nero.  And  his  gesture,  why, 

'Tis  of  the  Orient,  and  gesticulation 


64  NERO  ACT 

More  happily  were  called ;   never  a  stillness, 
Never  repose,  but  one  wild  whirl  of  arms. 

TiGELLiNUS.     I  spoke  not  of  fulfilment,  but 
of  promise, 
The  artist's  dazzling  future. 

Nero.  A  sweet  voice  ! 

Rome  hath  no  critics !     I  would  write  a  play 
Lived  there  a  single  critic  fit  to  judge  it. 
Whether  a  dancing  girl  kick  high  enough  — 
On  this  they  can  pronounce :  this  is  their  trade. 
With  verse  upon  the  stage  they  cannot  cope. 
Too  well  they  dine,  too  heavily,  and  bear 
The  undigested  peacock  to  the  stalls. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Should  Agrippina  on  a  sudden 
change 
Her  front,  and  clasp  hands  with  Britannicus  ? 


11  NERO  65 

Nero.     Your  words  awaken   in   me  a  new 

thirst. 
Seneca.     Sir,    hear   the  Parthian    and    the 

British  chiefs. 
Nero,    ^oing  to  the  throne.]  Summon  them  ! 

[Exit  Seneca. 
Think  not,  though  my  aim  is  art, 
I  cannot  toy  with  empire  easily. 
The  great  in  me  does  not  preclude  the  less. 
[Re-enter    Sent:ca    with    Parthlan    and 
British  Ambassadors,  jollowed  by  the 
Court.       Sent:ca    brings    forward    the 
Parthian    Chiefs,    when    Agrtppina 
enters  magnificently  dressid  and  begins 
to  mount  steps  oj  throne.     Nero  witJi 
courteous  decision  brings  her  down. 

F 


66  NERO  ACT 

Mother,  this  is  man's  business,  not  for  thee. 
You  jar  the  scheme  of  colour  —  mar  the  effect. 
Parthian.     Caesar,  we  starve:   all  Parthia 
parches :  all 
Our  crops  sun-smitten  bleach  upon  the  plains. 
We  ask  thy  aid. 

Nero.  And  ye  shall  have  my  aid 

Even  to  the  fullest:    further,  I  will  open 
The    imperial    granaries    for    your     people's 
wants. 
Parthian.     Caesar,  we  thank  thee:   and  if 
ever  thou 
Shouldst  need  the  Parthian  aid,  whate'er  the 

cost 
That  aid  thou  shalt  find  ready  at  thy  side. 

-  \Exil. 


II  NERO  67 

British  Chief.     Caesar,  the  tax  that  thou 
hast  laid  on  us 
Remit,  we  pray  thee,  else  we  rise  in  arms 
And  will  abide  thy  battle. 

Nero.  So  !    You  dream 

That  Caesar  being  merciful  is  weak. 
I     who     can    succour,     I    can    strike;     I'll 

launch 
The  legions  over  sea,  and  I  myself 
Will  lead  them,  and  the  eagles  will  unloose 
Through  Britain  —  I  who  sit  on  the  world's 

throne 
Will  have  no  threatening  from  Briton,  Gaul, 
People  or  tribe  inland  or  ocean-washed. 
The  terror  of  this  purple  I  maintain. 
You  are  dismissed. 


68  NERO  ACT 

[Nero,  spreading  his  hands,  dismisses  tlic 

Court,   and  conies  down  to  his  mother. 

Nero.  Now,  mother ! 

Agrippina.  I  will  speak 

With    you    alone,    not    compassed    by  these 

men. 
[To  Seneca  and  Burrus.]    To  me  you  owe  the 

height  where  now  vou  stand. 
Who  took  you,  schoolmaster,  from  exile  ?     Who 
Unstewarded  you,  Burrus?    If  I  have  made, 
I    can    unmake  —  Now  leave    me    \nth    my 

son. 
[ToTiGELLiNUS.]    You  are  self-made.     Gods! 

I'd  no  hand  in  that ! 
[Exeunt  Seneca,  Burrus,  and  Tigellinus.] 
Nero,  have  you  forgot  who  set  you  there? 


NERO  69 

Nero.     Not  while  I  hear  it  twenty  times  a 

day. 
Agrippina.     You   should   not   need   that   I 

remind  you  of  it. 
Nero.     K    kindness    harped   on   grows    an 

injury. 
Agrippina,    Are  you  the  babe  that  lay  upon 

my  breast? 
Nero.     I  was:  but  I  would  not  He  there  for 

ever. 
Agrippina.     Have  I  not  reared  you,  tended 

you,  and  loved  you  ? 
Nero.     Yes,  but  to  be  your  puppet  and  your 

toy. 
Agrippina.     Boy,  never  since  I  first  looked 

on  the  sun 


70  NERO  ACT 

From  man  or  woman  had  I  insolence, 

Who    have    sistered,    wived,    and    mothered 

Emperors. 
Nero.     I  speak  no  insolence  —  you  weary 

me! 
Agrippina.     Gods !   you  have  hit  on  a  new 

thing  to  tell  me. 
[Coming  to  him.]     Does  your  heart  beat  ?    Are 

you  all  ice  and  pose  ? 
Has  nothing  gripped  you  —  is  there  aught   to 

grip 
In   you,   pert   shadow.     Have   you   e'er  shed 

tears  ? 

Nero.     For  legendary  sorrows  I  can  weep : 

With  those  of  old  time  I  have  suffered  much, 

And  I,  for  dreams,  am  capable  of  tears ; 


II  NERO  71 

But    not    for    woe   too    near    me  —  and    too 

loud. 
Agrippina.     O  wall  of  stone  'gainst  which  I 

beat  in  vain ! 
Nero,  I  will  do  much  to  win  you  back 
For  your  own  sake:    and  though  it  hurts  me 

sore, 
Your  passion  for  Poppaea  I  will  aid. 
When  did  a  mother  yield  herself  to  this? 
Nero.     When  had  a  mother  such  a  lust  for 

rule 
That  she  could  even  yield  herself  to  this? 
Agrippina.     [Clasping  his  knees.]    Child,  I 

have  done  with  scorn,  with  bitter  words. 
With    taunt,    with    gibe.     Now   I    ask    only 

pity  — 


72  NERO  ACT 

A  little  pity  from  flesh  that  I  conceived, 

A  Httle  mercy  from  the  body  I  bore, 

And  touches  from  the  baby  hands  I  kissed. 

Nothing  I  ask  of  you,  only  to  love  me, 

And  if  not  that,  to  bear  with  me  a  while, 

Who  have  borne  much  for  you:    no,   Nero, 

child, 
I  will  not  weary  you,  I  yearn  for  you. 
Forgive  me  all  the  deeds  that  I  have  done  for 

you, 
Forget  the  great  love  I  have  spent  on  you. 
Pardon  the  long,  long,  life  for  you  endured. 

[Nero  is  moved  and  kisses  her,  then  speaks 
with  effort. 
Nero.     Mother,    if   I    have   seemed   to   be 

forgetful. 


II  NERO  73 

Or  cruel  even,  impute  it  not  to  me 
But  to  tiie  State. 

[Agrippina  starts. 
'Tis  thought  that  neither  Rome, 
The  provinces,  nor  armies,  will  endure 
To  see  a  woman  in  such  eminence. 
Therefore,  it  is  advised  that  you  retire 
To  Antium  a  while,  and  leave  Rome  free. 
Agrippina.     [Starting  up.]    Leave   Rome! 

Why,  I  would  die  as  I  did  step 
Outside    her   gates,    and    glide    henceforth    a 

shadow. 
The  blood  would  cease  to  run  in  my  veins,  my 

heart 
Stop,    and   my   breath    subside    without    her 

walls. 


74  NERO  ACT 

All  without  Rome  is  darkness:  you  will  not 
Despatch  my  shadow  down  to  Antium? 
Nero.     We  were   remembering  your  toils, 

your  age. 
Agrippina.     My    age !    Am    I    old    then  ? 

Look  on  this  face, 
Where  am  I  scarred,  who  have  steered  the  bark 

of  State 
As  it  plunged,  as  it   rose  over  the  waves  of 

change  ? 
I  was  renewed  with  salt  of  such  a  sea. 
Empires  and  Emperors  I  have  outlived; 
A  thousand  loves  and  lusts  have  left  no  line; 
Tremendous  fortunes  have  not  touched  my  hair, 
Murder  hath  left  my  cheek  as  the  cheek  of  a 

babe. 


II  NERO  75 

\At  this  moment   Burrus,    Seneca,   and 
TiGELLiNUS  return,   hearing  the  scene; 
and  as  Agrippina  continues  her  impre- 
cations, the  Court  return  and  stand  in 
groups  listening. 
Agrippina.     My   age !    Who   then   accuses 
me  of  age? 
Was  this  a  flash  from  budding  Seneca, 
Or  the  boy  Burrus'  inspiration?     Say? 
Do  I  owe  it  to  the  shrivelled  or  the  maimed? 
Seneca.  Empress,  it  is  determined  you  retire. 
And  you  will  better  your  own  dignity 
And  his  assert,  if  you  will  make  this  going 
To  seem  a  free  inclining  from  yourself. 
Agrippina.     Bookman,  shall  I  learn  policy 
from  vou  ? 


76  NERO  ACT 

Be  patient  with  me.     Nero,  you  I  ask, 
Not  schoolmasters  or  stewards  I  promoted. 
Is  it  your  wih  I  go  to  Antium? 
Speak,  speak.     Be  not  the  mouthpiece  of  these 

men : 
Domitius ! 
Nero.     Mother,  'tis  my  A\ill  you  go. 
Agrippina.     Then,    sir,    discharge   me   not 
from  your  employ 
Without  some  written  commendation 
That  I  can  tire  the  hair  or  pare  the  nails. 
That  those  who  were  my  friends  may  take  me 
in! 
Nero.     Lady ! 

Agrippina.  O,  lady  now  ?    Mother,  no 

more  1 


II  NERO  77 

Nero.     [Pacing  fiercely  to  and  fro.]     Beware 
the  son  you  bore:  look  lest  I  turn  ! 
Chafe  not  too  far  the  master  of  this  world. 
Agrippina.     See  the  new  tiger  in  the  dancer's 
eye: 
'Ware  of  him,  keepers  —  then,  you  bid  me  go? 

[.4  pause. 
Then    I   will    go.     But    think   not,    though  I 

My  spirit  shall  not  pace  the  palace  still. 
I  am  too  bound  by  guilt  unto  these  walls. 
"    Still  shall  you  hear  a  step  in  dead  of  night ; 
In  stillness  the  long  rustle  of  my  robe. 
So  long  as  stand  these  walls  I  cannot  leave  them. 
Yet  will  I  go:   behold  you,  that  stand  by, 
A  mother  by  her  own  son  thrust  away, 


78  NERO  •  ACT 

Cast  out  —  ha,  ha  !  —  in  my  old  age,  infirm, 
To  totter  and  mumble  in  oblivion ! 
Nero.     \To  Seneca  and  Burrus.]    A  little 
violent  that  —  did  you  not  think  so  ? 
And  yet  the  gesture  excellent  and  strong ! 
Agrippina.     Romans,  behold  this  son :    the 
man  of  men ; 
This  harp-player,  this  actor,  this  buffoon  — 
Nero.     Peace ! 

Agrippina.  —  sitting  v^here  great  Jul- 

ius but  aspired 
To  sit,  and  died  in  the  aspiring:   see, 
This  mime  —  my  son  is  he  ?     And  did  I  then 
Have  one  mad  moment  with  a  street   musi- 
cian? 
Seneca.     Have  you  no  shame? 


n  NERO  79 

Agrippina.  This  son 

now  sends  me  forth, 
Yet  it  was  I,  his  mother,  set  him  there. 

\Murmur. 
And,  ah  !  if  it  were  known  at  what  a  price, 
Witness,  you  shades  of  the  Silani ! 

Seneca.  Peace ! 

Agrippina.     And  witness  Messalina  on  vain 

knees ! 

\Murmur. 

And  witness  Claudius  with  the  envenomed  cup. 

Nero.     Silence,  or 

Agrippina.     Not    the    seas    shall    stop    me 
now. 
Racing  on  all  the  shores  of  all  the  world. 
Witness  if  easily  my  son  did  reign, 


So  NERO  ACT 

I  am  bloody  from  head  to  foot  for  sake  of  him, 
And  for  my  cub  am  I  incarnadined. 

\Murmur. 
I'll  go,  but  if  I  fall,  Rome  too  shall  fall : 
I'll  shake  this  empire  till  it  reel  and  crash 
On  that  ungrateful  head;   and  if  I  fall, 
The  builded  world  shall  tumble  down  in  thun- 
der. 

\Murmur. 
Ah! 

[Seeing  Britannicus.]    To  my  arms,  boy! 
[Snatches  him  to  her  side.]    Tremble  now  and 

shake ! 
Here  is  the  true  heir  to  the  imperial  throne, 
Deposed  by  me,  but  now  by  me  restored. 

[Uproar. 


n  NERO  8i 

I'll  to  the  Praetorians ! 

]^lamour. 
To  the  camp ! 
And  there  upon  the  one  side  they  shall  see 
Britannicus  the  child  of  Claudius, 
And  me  the  daughter  of  Germanicus; 
And  on  the  other  side  a  harp-player, 
A  withered  pedant,  and  a  maimed  sergeant, 
Disputing  for  the  diadem  of  the  earth. 
Come,  Caesar,  away  to  the  Praetorians ! 

\ExU    Agrippina    leading    Britannicus, 

followed  by  Court  in  great  excitement, 

all  but  BuRRUS  and  Seneca,  Tigelli- 

Nus  and  Nero  —  a  blank  pause. 

Seneca.    How  what  to  do  ? 

Tigellinus.  Already  can  I  hear 


82  NERO  ACT 

The  roar  of  the  Praetorians  and  their  march, 
This  time  to  crown  another.     Burrus,  you 
Command  them. 

Burrus.        They  would  tear  me  into  pieces, 
As  hounds  a  master  entering  in  on  them 
Unrecognised,  if  Agrippina  once 
Halloed  to  them  the  name  '  Germanicus.' 

TiGELLiNUS.     Surely    Britannicus   must   be 
our  aim: 
He  gone,  what  threat,  what  counter-move  hath 

she? 
Removing  him,  we  take  the  sting  from  her; 
Then  let  her  buzz  at  will. 

Burrus.  But  he  is  gone. 

Seneca.  Even  as  an  eagle  snatches  up  a  babe, 
So  Agrippina  caught  him  up  and  flew. 


II  NERO  83 

TiGELLiNUS.     For  once  my  wits  are  lost. 
Seneca.  Still,  what  to  do? 

[Nero  has   been  sitting  with  his  back  to 
them,  suddenly  rises. 
Nero.     Leave  this  to  me! 
TiGELLiNUS.  O  Caesar! 

Nero.     [To  Anicetus.]  Go  thou  fast 

And  intercept  my  mother  on  her  way, 
And  say  thou  thus:    'Nero  thy  son  repents 
His  former  ire  and  cancels  the  decree 
For  Antium ;   and  prays  thou  may'st  return 
To  supper,  as  a  sign  of  amity, 
And  bring  with  thee  the  prince  Britannicus.' 

[Anicetus  is  going,  but  Nero  stops  him. 
And  as  you  go,  send  in  to  me  Locusta. 

[Exit  Anicetus. 


84  NERO  ACT 

I  have  conceived  —  not  fully  —  but  conceived 
The  death-scene  of  the  boy  Britannicus. 
Leave  this  to  me. 

TiGELLiNUS.  O  Caesar! 

Nero.  It  shall  be 

Performed  to-night  at  supper:    get  you  seats; 
It  shall  be  something  new  and  wonderful, 
Done  after  wine,  and  under  falHng  roses; 
And  there  shall  be  suspense  in  it,  and  thrill : 
It  shall  be  very  sudden,  very  silent, 
And  terrible  in  silence  —  I  the  while, 
Creator  and  arranger  of  the  scene, 
Reclining  with  a  jewel  in  my  eye; 
And  Agrippina  shall  be  close  to  me, 
Aware,  yet  motionless :   Octavia, 
Though  but  a  child,  yet  too  discreet  for  tears. 


II  NERO  85 

This  you  may  deem  as  yet  a  little  crude, 
But  other  details  I  will  add  ere  supper. 

[Seneca  withdraws  in  horror,  as  do  the 
others,  slowly. 
Seneca.    Here's  what  I  feared  ! 
TiGELLiNUS.    His  eyes  now  !    Yet  how  calm  ! 
So  steals  the  panther,  stirring  not  a  leaf ! 

[Exeunt  slowly  Seneca,  Tigellinus,  and 
BuRRUS.     Nero  walks  to  and  fro,  con- 
structing the  scene  in  pantomime  to  him- 
self.    LocuSTA  enters  down,  right. 
Nero.     You  are  Locusta,  and  your  trade  is 
poison. 

[She  makes  obeisance. 
[Uneasily.]    Is  poison  but  a  trade  with  you,  or 
art? 


86  NERO  ACT 

Surely  to  slay  is  the  supreme  of  arts; 

And  with  no  ugly  wound  or  hideous  blow, 

But  beautifully  to  extinguish  life. 

Have  you  some  rare  drug  that  kills  suddenly? 

As  I  have  planned  it,  I  can  have  no  pause  — 

Death    must    be    sudden  —  silent.     And    my 

guests 
Must  not  be  wearied  with  a  pang  prolonged, 
And  there  must  be  no  cry.     That  understand. 
[LocusTA,  grovelling  at  his  jeet. 

LocusTA.     O  Caesar,  such  a  drug  is  known 
to  me,  — 
But  I  will  not  reveal  it. 

Nero.  Die  then. 

LocusTA.  Die  ? 

O,  I  love  life,  but  this  I'll  not  reveal. 


n  NERO  87 

Nero.     Ah,    you   must   live  —  you   are   an 

artist  too. 
LocusTA.    I  have  a  poison  that  is  shpped  in 
wine  — 
Not  nauseous  to  the  taste. 

Nero.  An  artist  still ! 

Let  me  have  that,  and  suddenly.     And  Hsten  — 
The  cup  presented  to  Britannicus 
Must  be  too  hot :  so  that  he  calls  for  snow 
To  cool  it.     In  that  snow  the  poison  lurks. 

\_Exit  LocusTA. 

[Anicetus  hastily  returns. 

Anicetus.     O  Caesar,  the  Augusta  had  not 

left 

The    palace;    and    now,    o'erjoyous    at    thy 

words, 


88  _  NERO  ACT 

She  will  be  present  at  the  supper-board, 
Bringing  with  her  the  prince  Britannicus. 

\Seruants  enter  with  various  dishes  and 
arrange  the  tables  and  couches  for  the 
guests,  .and  supper  begins. 
[They  all  recline  amid  a  low  hum  0}  con- 
versation. Dreamy  music  is  heard, 
which  might  be  a  continuation  of  the 
music  played  before.  Nero  reclines  at 
the  head  of  the  central  table  between 
Agrippina  and  Octavia.  Poppaea  is 
a  prominent  figure.  Britannicus,  with 
other  youths^  lies  at  a  side  table.  Seneca, 
BuRRUS,  and  Tigellinus  present  with 
other  members  of  the  Court.  At  a  sign 
from  Nero  dancing  girls  enter  and  per- 


n  NERO  89 

]orm    a    strange,    wild    measure,    ajtcr 
which  the  hum  oj  conversation  is  re- 
sumed.    Again,  at  a  sign  jrom  Nero, 
odours  are  spurted  over  the  guests  amid 
cries  of  delight. 
[At  a  sign  from   Nero,   flowers   descend 
from  the  ceiling.      At   first   lilies,  then 
of  deeper  and  deeper  colour.      At  last 
a    tempest    of    roses    which   gradually 
slackens. 
Nero.     Britannicus,  I  voice  a  general  wish. 
Sweet  is  it,  early  and  thus  easily 
To  have  garnered  fame:  the  cro^vn  is  for  the 

few, 
And   these  .are   tasked   to   reach   it   ere  they 
die. 


90  NERO  ACT 

Oftener  the  laurel  on  grey  hairs  is  laid, 
Or  on  the  combed  tresses  of  the  dead. 

[Britannicus  goes  to.  the  top  of  the  stairs 
to  recite,  and  at  a  sign  from  Nero  wine 
is  handed  to  him. 
Britannicus.     This  is  too  hot :   some  snow 
to  cool  it :   so  — 

[Cold  snow  is  put  in  and  he  drinks.    He 
then  recites. 
Beside  the  melancholy  surge  I  roam  — 
A  sad  exile,  a  stranger,  sick  for  home: 
A  prince  I  was  in  my  far  native  land 
Who  wander  to  and  fro  this  alien  sand : 
Riches  I  had,  and  steeds,  a  ghmmering  crown ; 
Never  had  known  a  harshness  or  a  frown. 
Now  must  I  limp  and  beg  from  door  to  door, 


11  NERO  91 

Wet  with  the  storm,  or  in  the  sun  footsore : 
I,  by  a  brother's  cunning  dispossessed, 
Crave  for  these  languid  hmbs  a  place  of  rest. 
Pity  me,  robbed  of  all ! 

\He  gives  a  cry  and  jails  headlong.     His 
limbs  quiver  a  moment  and  then  are  still. 
Meanwhile    the    shower    0}    roses    has 
slackened.     There  is  a  dead  silence,  and 
in  the  silence  slowly  all  the  guests  turn 
and  look  at  Nero,  who  rises,  with  the 
emerald  in  his  eye. 
Nero.     Lift  up  the  prince  and  bear  him  to 
his  room. 
I  do  entreat  that  none  of  you  will  stir 
Or   rise    perturbed:     my    brother,    since    his 
birth, 


92  NERO  ACT  II 

Was  ever  thus :  the  fit  will  pass  from  him. 
Refill  the  cups :  proceed  we  with  the  feast ! 
\There  is  an  attempt  to  renew  the  feasting, 
but  soon  a  scene  of  uproar  and  confusion 
arises,  and  the  guests  leave  the  tables  in 
alarm. 
[Agrippina  alone  remains  unmoved,  and 
then,  as  the  guests  have  departed  in  dis- 
order, she  confronts  Nero  alone. 
Agrippina.     Thou  hast  done  this. 
Nero.  Mother,  I  am  thy  son ! 


ACT  III 


SCENE  I 

Scene.  -  -  Nero's  private  chamber.  Enter 
Nero  hastily  and  perturbed,  followed  by 
Seneca,  Burrus,  and  Tigellinus,  his 
privy-councillors. 

Burrus.     Caesar,  still  glides  the  dead  Bri- 

tannicus 

About  the  palace,  and  his  memory 

Your  mother,  Agrippina,  uses:   makes 

Out  of  his  ghost  a  faction  for  herself. 

She  grows  a  pubUc  peril ;  much  you  owe 

To  her,  but  more  to  Rome ;  from  Antium 

She  rages  disappointed  to  and  fro. 
95 


96  NERO  ACT  III 

Me  for  your  army  you  hold  answerable, 
But  can  no  longer  if  you  suffer  her 
To  lure  the  legions  from  their  loyalty. 
Her  creatures  whisper  to  your  sentinels, 
Corrupt  your  officers,  inflame  your  guards. 
A  sullen  silence  on  the  camp  has  fallen, 
A  word,  and  it  will  roar  in  mutiny. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Everywhere  steal  her  agents 
and  her  spies, 
Gliding  through  temples,  baths,  and  theatres; 
Possess  all  angles,  corners,  noonday  halts. 
And  darknesses ;  they  flit  with  casual  poison 
Softly;  the  city  secretly  is  filled 
With  murmurs,  Hfted  eyebrows,  and  with  sighs. 
The  mischief's  in  the  very  blood  of  Rome 
Unless  the  sore  that  feeds  it  is  cut  out. 


sc.  I  NERO  97 

Nero.      Why,    I    myself    have    \'isited    the 

fleet 
With  Anicetus:   sullen  droop  the  sails 
Or  flap  in  mutiny  against  the  mast. 
Burdened  ^\ith  barnacles  the  untarred  keels, 
Drowse  on  the  tide  with  parching  decks  un- 

swabbed. 
And  anchors  rusting  on  inglorious  ooze. 
All  indolent  the  vast  armada  tilts, 
A  leafless  resurrection  of  dead  trees. 
The  sailors  in  a  dream  do  go  about 
Or  at  the  fo'c'sle  ominously  meet. 
Should  any  foe  upon  the  sea-line  loom 
They'll  light  with  ease  upon  an  idle  prey. 
And  yet  I  felt  the  grandeur  of  stagnation 
And  the  magnificence  of  idleness. 


98  NERO  ACT  III 

BuRRUS,     She  hath  seduced  the  breast-plates 

and  the  sails. 
Nero,    \phtr acted.']  Here  I   pronounce  her 

exile. 
TiGELLiNUS.  Whither  then  ? 

Anicetus.     To  Britain  send  her.    There  for 
Claudius 
I  fought;    a  melancholy  isle,  alone, 
Sundered  from  all  the  world;  and  banned  by 

God 
With  separating,  cold,  rehgious  wave, 
And  haunted  with  the  ghost  of  a  dead  sun 
Rising  as  from  a  grave,  or  all  in  blood 
Returning  wounded  heavily  through  mist. 
Her  rotting  peoples  amid  forests  cower, 
Or  mad  for  colour  paint  their  bodies  blue. 


sc.  I  NERO  99 

There  in  eternal  drippings  of  the  leaf 
Or  that  dead  summer  of  the  living  fly, 
And  by  the  eternal  sadness  of  the  surf, 
Ambition  cannot  hve,  hope  cannot  breathe. 
Even  the  fieriest  spirit  there  will  rust 
Or  gutter  Uke  a  candle  in  the  rain. 
To  Britain  send  her. 

TiGELLiNUS.  Never  isle  remote 

On  the  sad  water,  never  desert  sand 
In  trembling  flame,  nor  rock-built  prison-house 
Shall  tame  her:    there's  the  danger,  that  she 

lives. 
While  she  hath  life,  it  is  no  matter  where, 
While    she    hath    breath,    no    other  dares  to 

breathe. 
Not  Caesar,  even ! 


loo  NERO  ACT  III 

Nero.  This  breath  to  her  I  owe. 

TiGELLiNUS.     [Cautiously  and  slowly  watch- 
ing Nero,  as  do  the  others.]    Caesar,  there 
is  a  region  of  exile 
Whence  none  hath  yet  returned  —  your  par- 
don, sir  — 
Nero.     [Starts  and  turns  away.]    No,   no, 
no !    I  remember  very  clear 
How  gently  she  would  wake  me  long  ago. 
BuRRUS.     Then  be  thy  mother's  son  still  and 
surrender 
This  toy  of  Rome  to  her :   she  bought  it  you : 
Now,  wearied,  give  it  back! 

Nero.  Ah,  patience,  sir! 

I  cannot  in  one  moment  gird  myself 
To  murder  all  these  kisses,  and  she  hath 


SC.  I  NERO 

A  vastness  in  this  narrow  world  so  rare, 
A  sweep  majestical  about  the  earth  — 
True,  that  she  hath  no  ear  for  verse 


TiGELLiNUS.  For  thine. 

Nero.    Yet  passion,  fury,  and  ambition,  these 
Are  primal  things  in  our  elaborate  age. 
Ill  can  we  spare  them. 

BuRRUS.  Now,  'tis  you  or  she. 

Nero.    A  little  time  in  which   to  fix   my 
mind. 
I  go  to  Baiae;   for  I  am  not  housed 
Here  as  I  should  be :   all  the  palace  seems 
To  me  a  hovel;   scarcely  can  I  breathe. 
I  should  be  roofed  with  gold,  and  walled  with 

gold, 
Should  tread  on  gold ;  and  if  I  cast  mine  eyes 


I02  NERO  __  ACT  III 

Over  the  city,  they  should  view  a  scene 
Of  spacious  avenues  and  breathing  trees, 
And  buildings  plunged  in  odorous  foliage. 
This  is  a  petty  city:   I  have  thought 
It  might  be  well  to  raze  it  to  the  ground 
And  build  another  and  an  ampler  Rome, 
More  worthy  site  for  this  imperial  soul. 
I'll  go  to  Baiae,  there  to  dream  this  dream. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Might  I  propose  you  go  not  all 
alone  ? 
At    times    the    answering    flash    from    other 

eyes 
Can    aid    the    mightiest;     and    a    woman's 
thought 

Nero.     Yes  —  Yes  —  Poppaea  ! 

BuRRUS.  Otho  will  be  jealous. 


sc.  I  NERO  103 

TiGELLiNUS.     And  is  already  dangerous ;  he 
has  joined 
The  Agrippina  faction. 

Nero.  He  must  be 

Promoted  then  to  —  Lusitania. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Thule  were  safer  —  still. 
Nero.  Here  I  appoint  him 

Sole  governor  of  Lusitania. 
To  Baiae  now  —  Poppaea  —  a  new  Rome  ! 

\ExU  Nero. 
TiGELLiNUS.     He  hesitates  —  but  I  will  see 
Poppaea : 
She  can  find  means  we  cannot,  and  we  thus 
Can  use  her  beauty  for  our  pohcy. 

[£:reMw/ TiGELLiNUS,  BuRRUS,  Seneca,  and 
Anicetus. 


SCENE  II 

Scene.  —  The  tiring  chamber  of  Poppaea  — 
signs  of  luxury,  implements  of  a  Roman  lady^s 
toilet  of  the  period.  Poppaea  reclining,  with 
a  single  maid. 

Poppaea.     Myrrha,  more   gold   upon  these 

builded  curls. 

How  often,  child? 

Myrrha.  Mistress,  forgive  me. 

[A  slave  has  entered. 

Poppaea.  Well  ? 

Slave.     Mistress,   the   Emperor's  minister, 

TigelHnus. 

[Poppaea  signs  Myrrha  to  go. 
104 


sc.  n  NERO  105 

Enter  Tigellinus 
TiGELLiNUS.     Lady,  I  am  loth  to  interrupt 
this  toil, 
But  come  on  a  secret  errand. 

Popp.aj:a.  Well,  what  is  it? 

Tigellinus.     Long  have  I  watched  you,  and 
to  me  it  seemed 
You    had    some    mighty    ^^^sh    within    your 

soul 
As  yet  unspoken?     Ah,  I  know  it  well. 
You    would    climb    high,   even    to   the    very 
height  ? 
Popp-\EA.     IRising.^     I  would. 
TiGELLixus.  You   would 

be  —  mistress  of  the  world  ? 
POPPAEA.      Ah ! 


io6  NERO  ACT  III 

TiGELLiNUS.        And  shall  be:  we  aim  at  the 
same  goal. 
You  from  ambition,  I  from  pohcy. 

PoPPAEA.     Speak  clearer. 

TiGELLiNUS.     'Tis  our  wish  to  free  young 
Nero 
From  Agrippina's  dangerous  dominance  — 
To  free  him  of  her  quite.     Now  she  too  stands 
In    your    own    path.      Your  loveHness    may 

work 
Upon  him:  and  we  with  poHcy  the  while — 
Will  you  make  cause  with  us? 

PoppAEA.  I  understand. 

You  need  this  beauty  as  an  added  bait 
To  lure  when  pohcy  can  drive  him  not. 
What  do  I  gain  at  last? 


sc.  II  NERO  107 

TiGELLiNUS.  The  throne  itself. 

Octavia  is  a  shadow :  cannot  stand 
Between  you  and  the  world :  but  Agrippina, 
Never  will  suffer  you  while  she  has  breath. 

POPPAEA.     I  will  not  tempt  him  to  a  mother's 
murder. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Nor  do  we  ask  it :   only  that 
you  draw 
His  wandering  fancy  from  her  with  a  sweet 
Interposition  of  this  loveliness, 
Free  him  of  her,  then  bind  him  to  yourself. 

PoPPAEA.     I  will  attempt  it.     I  will  fly  at  it. 
I  go  to  him  to  Baiae  this  same  day. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Remember  all  the  earth  is  in 
thy  reach. 

\Exil   TiGELLiNUS.] 


io8  NERO  ACT  III 

POPPAEA  claps  her  hands  —  enter  various  maids 

POPPAEA.    Lorilla,  see,  this  henna  is  o'erdone. 

LoRiLLA.     O  pardon,  mistress. 

PoppAEA.  And  you,  Lalage, 

My  lips  more  brilliant. 

Lalage.  Yet 

PoppAEA.  Remember,    child, 

That  I  walk  ever  veiled :   what  in  the  sun 
Glares,  being  veiled  a  finer  richness  takes 
And  more  provokes :  how  many  struggling  flies 
This  veil,  the  web  of  mine,  hath  struggling  held 
Which  else  were  freed ! 

[Gazing  at  her  face  in  mirror. 
Ah  !  this  left  eyebrow  —  who  ? 
Who  painted  this? 


sc.  II  NERO  109 

Maid.    [Trembling.]  I,  madam. 

POPPAEA.  You  are  young : 

Else  I  would  have  you  stripped  and  lashed  till 

blood 
Flew  from  you. 

Maid.  Mercy ! 

PoppAEA.  Call  old  Lydia. 

Lydia,  this  eyebrow  —  the  old  touch. 

Lydia  My  hands 

Tremble,  but  I'll  essay. 

PoPPAEA.  [Gazing  in  mirror.]  So — that  is  well. 
Children,  when  there  shall  come,  and  come 

there  must,  ' 

The  smallest  marring  wrinkle  on  this  face, 
And  come  there  must  —  our  bodies   fall  like 
flowers, 


iio  NERO  ACT  III 

This  face  shall  feel  the  ruin  of  the  rose  — 
When  time,    howe'er    light,    shall   touch   this 

cheek, 
Then  quick  farewell !    Listen,  I  will  not  Hve 
Less  lovely,  nor  this  cruel  beauty  lose, 
And  I  perforce  grow  kind :  I'll  not  survive 
The  deep  dehcious  poison  of  a  smile 
Nor  mortal  music  of  the  sighing  bosom 
That  slowly  overcomes  the  fainting  brain. 
It  shall  not  dawdle  downward  to  the  grave ; 
I'll  pass  upon  the  instant  of  perfection. 
No  woman  shall  behold  Poppaea  fade : 
And  now  to  Baiae ! 

Myrrha.  Thence  the  Emperor 

Hath  sent  three  messengers  already. 

Poppaea.  Ah ! 


sc.  II  NERO  III 

Blue  Baiae,  warm  beside  a  sparkling  sea 
Where  I  will  win  young  Xero  —  and  the  world  ! 

Enter  Otho  hastily 

Otho.     The  Emperor  hath  sent  three  mes- 
sengers 
Demanding  you  for  Baiae:    yet  am  I 
Not  asked :   what  means  this  lonely  summons, 
^^^fe  ? 
PoPPAEA.     Can  you  not  trust  me? 
Otho.  When  I  gaze  on  you, 

Yes  —  when  your  voice  is  murmuring  at  my 

ear, 
Yes  —  but  at   times  when  I  am  pressed   by 

crowds 
Or  yearn  alone  beside  the  breaking  wave 


112  NERO  ACT  in 

POPPAEA.     Will   you   not   trust   me?     Why 
then  do  I  go? 
Is't    for   myself  ?     You    know  \yell  —  'tis  for 

you; 
To  praise  the  Emperor's  verses  —  but  for  you ; 
To  applaud  his  feeblest  gesture  —  but  for  you ; 
To  coax  from  him  a  kingdom  —  but  for  you ! 
Yet  are  you  angered. 

Otho.  'Tis  a  perilous  game. 

Nero  may  ask  more  of  your  loveliness. 

PoppAEA.     A  woman  may  surrender  inch  by 
inch 
Even  to  the  edge  of  shame :   then  sudden  rise 
Unmelting  ice. 

Otho.  Poppaea,  I  like  it  not. 

PopPAEA.     All  is  for  you. 


SC.  I  NERO  113 

Enter  an  Officer  with  Attendants 
Officer.  Sir,  from  the  Emperor. 

Thus  Caesar  saith:    'Hereby  do  we  decree 
Otho,  our  bosom's  friend,  sole  governor 
Of  Lusitania :  with  imperial  leave 
Whom  to  appoint,  dismiss:    all  revenues 
In  his  control:   thither  let  him  proceed 
To-morrow  ere  sunset.' 

Otho.     [Looking  at  Poppaea,  then  turning 
/(?  Officer.]    I  shall  obey 

[Exit  Officer  and  Others. 
Dismiss  the  slaves. 

Poppaea.  Otho,  I  swear 

Otho.  Dismiss  them. 

Poppaea.     Myrrha,   stay  by  me!     On  my 
knees  I  swear 


114  NERO  ACT  III 

Otho.     Stand  up!     You  knew  this? 

POPPAEA.  Dear,  I  never  could 

Otho.     [Taking  her  by  the  arm.]    You  go  to 
Baiae  into  Caesar's  arms. 
I    am  —  promoted  —  to     the     ends    of    the 

earth, 
Anywhere,  anywhere,  so  I  be  not  there 
To  interrupt. 

[He  throws  her  from  him  —  snatches  his 
dagger. 
PoppAEA.  Kill  me  then  if  you  will. 

Here  —  here  !     I  will  not  flinch,  so  I  die  true. 
You'll  not  suspect  my  corpse. 

Otho.  It  has  been  planned. 

Thought  out,  and  timed  —  for  in  his  deepest 
plot 


sc.  II  NERO  115 

Our  Nero  has  an  eye  for  drama  still. 
He  hath  imagined  that  which  now  we  act. 
POPPAEA.     Kill  me  —  I  love  you  !     Ere  you 

strike,  one  kiss. 
Otho.     Ah !     \Recoiling.'\ 
PopPAEA.     But  one  kiss  —  a  kiss  of  olden 

days, 
When  we  two  were  most  happy :    Caesar    was 

not, 
And  you  had  laughed  at  him  !    A  harp-player, 
But  not  my  man,  my  Otho !     Think  you  I 
Who  have  had  these  arms  about  me,  and  these 

lips 
Bum  up  my  own,  could  languish  for  a  mime  ? 
I  am  a  child  —  I  have  done  wrong  —  forgive 

it  — 


Ii6  NERO  ACT  III 

I  sighed  for  thy  advancement  —  speak  to  me ! 
Now  slap  my  hands  or  send  me  to  my  bed, 
I  am  a  baby  in  these  deep  affairs. 

Otho.     Go  not  to  Baiae  then:   depart  with 
me 
To  Lusitania;   words  I'll  count  no  more, 
But  deeds  —  to  Lusitania,  come  with  me. 

POPPAEA.     Is  it  wise  to  disobey  —  is  it  wise, 
I  ask? 
Set  me  aside,  be  mindful  of  yourself. 

Otho.     So  you'll  not  come? 

PopPAEA.  For  you  alone  I  linger. 

I'll  tarr>'  but  a  little  while  behind  you. 
And  when  I  come,  I'll  greet  you  full  of  riches. 

Otho.     I  dread  to  leave  you  in  your  love- 
liness. 


sc.  II  NERO  117 

POPPAEA.     Then  I'll  not  go  with  you. 

Otho.  You  will  not  —  Why  ? 

PopPAEA.     Because  you  will  not  trust  me. 
Show  to  me 
That  you  can  trust  me,  Otho;   and  what  joy, 
What  satisfaction  can  you  have  to  drag 
Your  wife  behind  you,  from  dull  jealousy 
Because  you  do  not  dare  leave  her  behind 
For  fear  —  I'll  not  be  such  a  wife. 

Otho.  Poppaea, 

No  more  I'll  ask  you  to  depart  with  me, 
I'll  go  alone :   but  this  remember  still  — 
Gay  have  I  been,  a  spendthrift  and  an  idler, 
A  brilHant  fly  that  buzzed  about  the  bloom. 
But  I  had  that  in  me  deep  down,  and  sdll, 
Of  which  you,  you  alone,  possess  the  key, 


Ii8  NERO  ACT  III 

A  sullen  nobleness  to  you  disclosed 

E'en    then    with    shame:     and    by    no    other 

guessed. 
This  you  well  know :   betray  not  that  at  least ; 
For  even  the  lightest  woman  here  is  scared, 
And  dreads  to  dabble  deeper  in  the  soul. 
We  have  no  children, 
PoppAEA.     [Coming  to  him  and  putting  up 
her  face.]  Am  I  not  child  enough 

Who  should  be  woman?     You  shall  kiss  these 

lips 
Once  ere  you  go  —  so  close  they  are  to  you. 
Otho.     The  gods  laugh  out  at  me  —  but  I 

must  kiss  you. 
PoppAEA.     Can  I  not  help  your  prepara- 
tion? 


sc.  II  NERO  119 

Otho.  No. 

I  shall  not  go  with  pomp ;  but  as  a  soldier. 

POPPAEA.     I  think  you  are  still  angry? 

Otho.  No  !     Farewell, 

I  have  brief  time. 

PopPAEA.         Ah!    take  me  with  you,  then. 

Otho.     What !     You  will  come  ? 

PoPPAEA.  I  wish  —  I  wish  'twere  wise. 

My  love  shall  bear  your  htter  all  the  way. 

\Exit  Otho  hastily. 

Re-enter  Maid 

Maid.     Has  he  gone,  lady?    Had  I  such  a 
man 
I    could    not    let    him     part    thus,    not    for 
Caesar. 


I20  NERO  ACT  III 

POPPAEA.     For   Caesar !     No :    but   Caesar 
means  the  world ! 
For  Baiae  !    The  new  gold-dust ! 
Maid.  Here,  I  have  it. 

PoppAEA.     Bear  it  yourself  —  entrust  it  to  no 
other. 

\Exeunt. 


SCENE  in 

Nero's  Private  Chamber  in  the  villa  at  Baiae, 
looking  directly  upon  the  bay.  Left,  doors 
leading  into  the  apartments.  The  water  laps 
close  up  to  the  marble  quay  or  terrace  on  which 
the  action  takes  place.  Right  are  seen  prows 
of  galleys  at  their  moorings.  Beyond  is  the 
curving  slwre  0}  the  bay,  crowded  with 
villas  and  temples.  The  scene  is  of  extreme 
southern  richness  and  serenity.  Time 
won. 

""Nero  is  pacing  restlessly  to  and  fro.     Enter  a 
servant. 


122  NERO  ACT  III 

Nero.    The    lady    Poppaea!    Is    she    yet 

arrived  ? 
Servant.     Sir,  an  hour  since. 
Nero.     [Impatiently.]   Then  why  is  she  not 
here?  [Exit  Servant. 

An  hour  since :  yet  she  lingers  while  I  ache 
With  passion.     She  comes  not,  still  she  delays. 
To  fly  to  her?    No,  'twere  unworthy  of  me  — 
And  yet,  and  yet  —  Ah !    I  must  go  to  her. 

Enter  slaves  bearing  Poppaea  on  litter 

Poppaea.     [Standing     aloof     and     veiled.] 
Caesar,  by  thee  thrice  summoned,  I  am 
here. 
What  is  your  will? 
Nero.  To  have  you  at  my  side. 


sc.  Ill  NERO  123 

PoppAEA.     Caesar,  I  am  thy  subject,  and 
obeyed 
Unwillingly. 

Nero.  Unwillingly  ? 

PoppAEA.  I  come 

In  loyalty:   what  service  can  I  render? 
If  none,  then  suffer  me  now  to  depart. 
I  tremble  to  be  seen  with  thee  alone; 
No  whisper  yet  has  touched  me. 

Nero.  So  you  come. 

But  out  of  loyalty. 

PopPAEA.  As  fits  thy  subject. 

Nero.    No,  I  am  thine ! 

PopPAEA.  Caesar,  I  will  not  hear, 

I  must  not  if  I  would  —  that  you  know  well. 

Nero.    You  come  in  cold  obedience? 


124 

NERO 

ACT  III 

POPPAEA. 

I  have  said  so. 

Yet 

Nero.     [Eagerly.']    Well  —  well 

PoppAEA.  Nero  —  nay,    Caesar  —  my 

lord. 

Nero.     Nero,  I'd  have  you  say. 

PopPAEA.  That  slipped  from  me  — 

Is't  treason?     I  know  nothing  of  the  laws. 

Nero.     You    come    because    thrice    sum- 
moned ? 

PoppAEA.         In  my  mind 
There    lurked    another   reason    for   my   com- 
ing. 

Nero.     What  then? 

PoppAEA.  A  thought  that  like  a 

captive  bird 


sc.  Ill  NERO  125 

I  have  kept  warm  about  my  heart  so  long 
I  am  loth  to  let  it  fly  forth  to  the  cold. 

Nero.     [Approaching   her.]    Tell    me    this 

thought. 
POPPAEA.  Then,  Caesar,  I  have  long 

Brooded  upon  the  music  of  thy  verse. 
It  doth  beset  me  —  and,  O  pardon  me, 
If,  little  fool  that  I  am,  I  longed  to  speak 
But  once  alone  with  him  who  made  it.     Now, 
What    have    I    said?      I    will    return   forth- 
with. 
Nero.     O  not  thy  beauty  moves  me  but  thy 

mind ! 
PoppAEA.     I  think  I  have  some  little  ear  for 
verse. 
There  is  one  line 


126  NERO  ACT  III 

Nero.  Yes  —  yes 

POPPAEA.                           Of  burning  Troy  — 
'O  city  amorous  red,  thou  flagrant  rose' 

Nero.     A   regal   verse!     But   the   arm   ex- 
tended thus 
Toward  doomed  IHum.     Say  on. 

PoppAEA.  My  eyes 

Are  filled  with  tears. 

Nero.  Remove  thy  veil  and  weep. 

PoPPAEA.     [Starting  back.]     For  no  man  — 
save  my  husband  —  O  my  lord  ! 
He  is  despatched  to  Lusitania. 

Nero.     Know  you  not  why? 
■  PoppAEA.  I  know  not  —  cannot  guess. 

Nero.     That  he  might  stand  no  more  be- 
tween us  two. 


sc.  Ill  NERO  127 

POPPAEA.     O  sir,  he  is  my  husband,   and 
my  way 
Is  with  him  wheresoe'er  he  go.     My  duty 

Nero.     But  your  indining? 

PoppAEA.  That  I  will  not  say. 

But  Lusitania  is  henceforth  my  home. 
Nero,  I  will  speak  truth :   I'll  not  deny 
There  is  some  strange  communion  of  the  soul 
'Twixt   you   and   me:    but   I'll   not   yield    to 

this. 
No,  nor  shall  you  compel  me,  Caesar:   I 
Will  follow  Otho  even  to  banishment. 
There  are  more  sacred  things  in  my  regard 
Than  mutual  pleasure  from  melodious  verse. 

Nero.     Nothing,    when    soul    meets    soul 
without  alloy. 


128  NERO  ACT  III 

PoppAEA.     I   fear  you   do   forget   I   am   a 
woman. 
Dear  to  us  before  all  are  household  cares. 

Nero.     O  to  the  average,  not  to  thee. 

PoppAEA.  Farewell ! 

Nero.     You  shall  not  go  thus. 

PoppAEA.  Caesar,  chain  me  here. 

But  in  neglected  duty  I  shall  pine. 

Nero.     [Angrily  striding  to  and  jro.]     Ah! 

PoppAEA.     And   imagine   that    he   did   not 
live  — 
That  I  were  free  to  indulge  this  panting  soul  — 
Still  there  are  bars  between  us  none  can  break. 

Nero.     You  mean  my  wife  Octavia? 

PoppAEA.  Well  —  and  yet 

Not  she,  perhaps. 


sc.  Ill  NERO  129 

Nero.  Who  then?     What  other  bars? 

POPPAEA.     Your  mother  Agrippina. 

Nero.  Still  my  mother  ! 

PopPAEA.      She  would  not  bear  it:    would 
command  her  son 
To  leave  me:   a  younger  woman  has  no  hope 
Against  her. 

Nero.  I  am  not  her  lackey. 

POPPAEA.  No  ? 

Ah,  but  her  child,  and  bom  but  to  obey. 
And   yet   though   wiser,    mightier,    than    my- 
self, 
You  shall  not  find  in  her  a  listener 
So  still,  so  answerable  to  your  mood. 
And,  I  will  say  it,  you'll  not  find  in  her 
One  who  has  dived  so  deep  into  your  soul. 


130  NERO  ACT  III 

Who  sees  —  I  cannot  flatter  —  sees  that  great- 
ness 
Which  she  too  long  keeps  under:   were  I  you 
I  would  be  Caesar,  spite  of  twenty  mothers, 
And  seem  the  mighty  poet  that  I  am. 
I'll  go. 

Nero.     You  madden  me 

POPPAEA.  Farewell  again. 

Nero.     Poppaea,  go  not,  go  not.     All  the 
east 
Burns  in  me,  and  the  desert  fires  my  blood, 
I  parch,  I  pine  for  you.     My  body  is  sand 
That  thirsts.     I  die,  I  perish  of  this  thirst. 
To  slake  it  at  your  Hps !     You  madden  me. 
\JIe  seizes  her  cloak  and  she  stands  re- 
vealed. 


sc.  Ill  NERO  131 

Goddess !    What    shall    I    give    thee    great 

enough  ? 
I'll  give  thee  Rome  —  I'll  give  thee  this  great 

world, 
And  all  the  builded  empire  as  a  toy. 
The  Mediterranean  shall  thy  mirror  be, 
Thy  jewels  all  sparkling  stars  of  heaven. 
The  orb  of  the  earth  —  throw  it  on  thy  lap 
But  for  a  kiss  —  one  kiss ! 
POPPAEA.  But  Agrippina? 

Nero.     Agrippina  ? 

PoppAEA.  No  —  I'll  not  think  of  it ! 

I'll    have    no    violence    for    my    sake    com- 
mitted. 
If  by  some  chance  unlocked   for   she  should 
die, 


132  NERO  ACT  III 

If  in  some  far,  far  time  she  should  succumb 

To  creeping  age  —  then 

Nero.  Then  ? 

Enter  Messenger  hurriedly 

Messenger.  Sir,  urgent  business  — 

The  State  demands  you. 
Nero.     \Furiously.'\  Pah!  —  the  State! 

POPPAEA.  O  Nero! 

Remember  first  the  State  —  me  afterward  ! 
Nero.     Empress ! 

\lB.e  leads  her  out. 
[He  returns  and  stands  as  in  a  dream  while 
the  Councillors  enter. 
BuRRUS.  How  long?    How  long,  sir? 

Agrippina 


sc.  Ill  NERO  133 

Is  drawing  to  her  net  the  dregs  of  Rome, 
Makes  mutinous  the  rabble  and  the  scum. 

[Nero  makes  weary  gesture. 

Seneca.    And,  sir,  she  has  not  scrupled  to 
enroll 
The  ragged,  shrieking  Christians,  who  wash  not, 
The  refuse  of  the  empire,  all  that  flows 
To  this  main  sewer  of  Rome  she  counts  upon. 

TiGELLiNUS.     [Stealing  forward.]    And,  sir, 
if  these  things  move  you  not  —  a  letter. 

Nero.  [Reading.]  '  I,  Agrippina,  daugh- 
ter of  Germanicus,  of  Claudius  widow,  of 
Nero  mother,  hereby  do  declare  that  though 
I  have  sat  tame  under  private  injuries,  I  will 
not  forgo  my  public  privileges,  nor  consent 
to   be   banished    from    high   festival   or  cere- 


134  NERO  ACT  HI 

mony.  I  purpose  then  to  be  present  at  Baiae 
at  Minerva's  feast,  together  with  the  Emperor, 
and  will  hold  no  second  place.  This  is  my 
ancient  right  and  to  that  right  I  cleave. 

'The  Augusta.' 

Seneca.     This  is  her  ultimate  audacity. 

TiGELLiNUS,     And  this  our  utmost  oppor- 
tunity. 

Nero.     Sirs,  seeing  that  the  State  demands 
this  life, 
Seeing  that  I  must  choose  't^^ixt  her  and  Rome, 
I  do  consent  to  Agrippina's  death. 
The  State  like  Nature  must  be  pitiless, 
And  I  must  ruthless  be  as  Nature's  Lord. 
But  I'll  be  no  Orestes,  I'll  not  lift 
This  hand  against  her:   see  you  then  to  that! 


sc.  Ill  NERO  135 

It  is  enough  to  have  conceived  this  deed. 
The  how,  the  when,  the  where,  I  leave  to  you. 

TiGELLiNUS.     She  is  delivered  now  into  our 
hands, 
And  runs  into  the  toils  we  had  not  set. 
In  Baiae  no  Praetorians  are  camped, 
No  populace  inflamed  in  her  cause; 
A  solitary  woman  doth  she  come. 
Caesar,  receive  her  graciously  and  well. 
Smile  all  distrust  away  and  speak  her  soft, 
While  we  devise  for  her  a  noiseless  doom. 

Anicetus.     Caesar,  a  sudden  thought  hath 
come  to  me. 
A  pleasure  pinnace  lies  in  Baiae  Bay 
Buih  for  thyself:   on  this  let  her  return 
In  the  deep  night  after  Minerva's  feast. 


136  NERO  ACT  III 

Or  supper  given  in  sign  of  amity. 
I  will  contrive  a  roof  weighted  with  lead 
Over  the  couch  whereon  she  will  recline. 
Once  in  deep  water  at  a  signal  given 
The  roof  shall  fall:   and  with  a  leak  prepared 
The  ship  shall  sink  and  plunge  her  in  the  waves. 
In  that  uncertain  water  what  may  chance? 
What  may  not?    To  the  elements  this  deed 
Will  be  imputed,  to  a  casual  gust 
Or  striking  squall  upon  the  moody  deep. 
Nero.     Wonderful !    This  gives  beauty  to 
an  act 
Which  else  were  ugly  and  of  me  unworthy. 
So  mighty  is  she  that  her  proper  doom 
Could  come  but  by  some  elemental  aid. 
Her  splendid  trouble  asketh  but  the  sea 


sc.  Ill  NERO  137 

For  sepulchre :   her  spirit  limitless 
A  multitudinous  and  roaring  grave. 
Here's  nothing  sordid,  nothing  \-ulgar.     I 
Consign  her  to  the  uproar  whence  she  came. 
Be  the  crime  vast  enough  it  seems  not  crime. 
I,  as  befits  me,  call  on  great  allies. 
I  make  a  compact  ^\ith  the  elements. 
And  here  my  agents  are  the  \tx\  \^^nds, 
The   waves  my   servants,    and   the  night   my 

friend. 
BuRRUS.     Suppose  the  night  be  clear,  with 

a  bright  moon, 
A  calm  sea. 

Nero.  On  the  moon  I  can  rely. 

Last  night  I  wrote  to  her  a  ghmmering  verse; 
She  is  white  with  a  wan  passion  for  my  lips. 


138  NERO  ACT  III,  sc.  III 

The  moon  will  succour  me.    Depart  from  me  — 
Trouble  me  not  with  human  faces  now. 

\Exeunt  Councillors. 
[Meanwhile  Poppaea  appears  behind  in  a 
gorgeous  dress  with  white  arms  extended 
against  the  curtains. 


SCENE  IV 

Scene.  —  The  same  —  glittering  starlight. 

Enter  various  servants  hearing  wine-jars  and 
dishes  from  the  inner  supper-room,  in  pro- 
cession. Then  Burrus,  Seneca,  Anicetus, 
and  Tigellinus. 

Burrus.     'Tis  not  man's  work  to  witness 

this.     I  have  fought 
Neck-deep  in  blood  and  spared  not  when  the 

fit 
Was  on  me,  but  I  cannot  gaze  on  this. 

Have  you  a  heart,  old  man? 
139 


I40  NERO  ACT  III 

TiGELLiNUS.  No,  not  in  hours 

Like  these:   the  brain  is  all.     I   fear,   I   fear 

him 
The  last  farewell  —  he  \\ill  not  bear  it  out ! 
Seneca.     How  to  excuse  my  soul,  yet  I  am 
here. 
Was  this  mere  acting,  or  a  true  emotion? 
Anicetus.     a  httle  of  both,  but  most,  I  fear 

it,  true. 
Tigellinus.     Is   all  prepared  and  timed? 

No  hazard  left? 
Anicetus.     Yonder   the   barge   with   lights 
and  fluttering  flags. 
The  canopy  whereunder  Agrippina 
Will  sit  is  heavily  weighted:    at  a  sign 
A  bolt  withdrawn  TAdll  launch  it  on  her  head. 


sc.  IV  NERO  141 

Enter  Nero 

Nero.     I   cannot   do  it:    if  she  goes,   she 
goes. 
I  cannot  say  farewell,  and  kiss  her  lips, 
Ere  I  commit  her  body  to  the  deep. 
TiGELLiNUS.     All  hangs  upon  the  fervour  of 
farewell, 
The   kiss,    the   soft  word,   and  the  hand  de- 
tained, 
All  hangs  on  it;   go  back. 

Nero.  'Tis  difficult. 

[Nero  turns.    Enter  Agrippina. 
Come  out  into  the  cool  a  moment,  mother. 
Agrippina.    This  seemeth  like  to  old  days 
come  again. 


142  NERO  ACT  III 

Evenings  of  Antium  with  a  rising  moon. 

[Stroking  his  hair. 
My  boy,  my  boy,  again !     Look  in  my  eyes. 
So  as  a  babe  would  you  look  up  at  me 
After  a  night  of  tossing,  half-awake, 
Blinking  against  the  dawn,  and  pull  my  head 
Down  to  you,  till  I  lost  you  in  my  hair. 
Do  you  remember  many  a  night  so  thick 
With  stars  as  this  —  you  would  not  go  to  bed, 
But  still  would  paddle  in  the  warm  ocean 
Spraying  it  with  small  hands  into  the  skies. 

Nero.    Yes,  I  remember. 

Agrippina.  Or  when  you  would  sail 

In  a  slight  skiff  under  a  moon  like  this. 
Though  chidden  oft  and  oft. 

Nero.  Ah !  I  recall  it. 


sc.  IV  NERO  143 

Agrippina.     a  wilful  child  —  the  sea  —  ever 
the  sea  — 
Your  mother  could  not  hold  you  from  the  sea. 
Will  you  be  sore  if  I  confess  a  thought? 

Nero.    Ah  !  no,  mother  ! 

Agrippina.  So  fooHsh  it  seems  now. 

Awhile  I  doubted  whether  I  should  come. 

Nero.    Why,  then? 

Agrippina.  Now,  do  not  laugh  at 

me  —  I  say 
You  will  not  laugh  at  me? 

Nero.  No ! 

Agrippina.  Why— I  thought 

That  you  perhaps  would  kill  me  if  I  came ! 
Truly  I  did ! 

Nero.  I  kill  you  ! 


144  NERO  ACT  III 

Agrippina.  'O,'  I  said, 

'  I    have    wearied    him :     he   is    weary   of   his 
mother.' 
Nero.     Oh ! 

Agrippina.     In  my  ears  there  buzzed  that 
prophecy  — 
'Nero  shall  reign  but  he  shall  kill  his  mother.' 

[Nero  starts. 
Agrippina.     Now  —  now  —  I  had  not  told 
you  had  I  not 
Been  above  measure  happy.     Now  no  more 
Wild  words,  no  more  mad  words  between  us  two, 
Who  all  the  while  are  aching  to  be  friends. 
O  how  your  hands  come  waxen  once  again 
Within  my  own :   again  behind  your  voice 
The  hesitating  tardy  bird-Hke  word 


sc.  IV  NERO  145 

And  the  sweet  slur  of  'r's.'     O  but  to-night 
Even  grandeur  palls,  the  splendid  goal :  to-night 
I  am  a  woman  and  am  with  my  child. 

\A  pause  and  she  strains  him  to  her. 
Beautiful  night  that  gently  bringest  back 
Mother  to  son,  and  callest  all  thy  stars 
To  watch  it.     Quiet  sea  that  bringest  peace 
Between  us  two.     Hast  thou  not  thought  how 

still 
The  air  is  as  with  silent  pleasure  ?     Child, 
Is  not  the  night  then  more  than  common  calm  ? 
Nero.     A  sparkling  starlight  and  a  windless 

deep. 
Agrippina.     Never  until  to-night  did   I   so 
feel 
The  lure  of  the  sea  that  lures  me  to  lie  down 


146  NERO  ACT  III 

At  last  after  such  heat.     Ah,  but  the  stars 
Are  faUing  and  I  feel  the  unseen  dawn. 
Son,  I  must  go  at  once.     Where  is  my  maid 
To  wrap  me?    Sweet  and  warm  now  is  the 

night 
And  I  am  glad  I  had  prepared  to  go 
By  water,  not  by  land. 

Enter  Servant,  hurriedly 

Servant.  O  Caesar! 

Nero.  Well? 

Servant.    Thy  mother's  galley  by  a  randon: 
barge 
Was  struck,  and  now  is  sinking  fast. 

Agrippina.  Alas ! 

Now  must  I  go  by  land. 


sc.  IV  NERO  147 

Nero.  Yes,  go  by  land. 

[TiGELLEsrcJS  signals  to  Anicetus. 

Anicetus.     Yonder  there  lies  a  barge  with 
fluttering  flags, 
A  gilded  pinnace,  a  light  pleasure-boat 
Built  for  you  ^\-ith  much  art  and  well  designed. 
Will  you  return  in  her?     Easily  she 
Can  swing  round  to  the  landing-stage. 

Agrtppina.  Yes  —  yes  — 

I'll  go  in  her  —  Why  not  ? 

Nero.  It  was  foretold 

Enter  x\cceronia,  who  elaborately  wraps 
Agrippina 

Agrippina.     Nero,  my  maid  a  moment  to 
enwrap  me. 


148  NERO  ACT  III 

\As  the  wrapping  is  finished. 
I  have  slept  ill  of  late :  but  I  shall  have 
A  soft  and  steady  breeze  across  the  bay. 
I  shall  sleep  sound.     Now,  Nero,  now  good-bye. 
For  ever  we  are  friends  ? 

Nero.  Good-bye:  yet  stay ! 

[During  this  dialogue  he  is  continually  de- 
taining her. 
Have  I  been  kind,  this  last  hour?     Say. 
Agrippina.  Most  kind. 

Nero.     You  have  no  need  to  go  this  moment 
—  one 
More  moment  of  thee,  mother. 

Agrippina.  You  shall  see  me 

To-morrow.     Will  you  cross  the  bay  to  me, 
Or  shall  I  come  to  you? 


sc.  IV  NERO  149 

Nero.  I'll  come  to  you 

To-morrow!     Ah!  to-morrow!     But  to-night. 
Now  let  me  have  you  once  more  in  my  arms. 

[Detaining  her. 
Is  old  Cynisca  with  you  still? 

Agrippina.     [Going.]  She  is. 

Nero.     Stay,  stay,  give  her  this  ring:    she 

nursed  me. 
Agrippina.       Yes. 
I  see  you  have  my  amulet. 

Nero.  O  yes. 

Agrippina.     So  bright  the  night  you'll  see 
me  all  the  way 
Across  the  shining  water. 

Nero.     [Clinging  to  her.]     O  farewell! 
Agrippina.     [Descends   to   water.]    Good- 


150  NERO  ACT  III 

night,    child !    I   shall   see   you   then   to- 
morrow. 
Already  it  hath  dawned. 

Nero.  Mother,  good-night. 

\Exit  Agrippina. 
TiGELLiNUS,    \To  crew  in  barge.]     Strike  up 
the  music  there,  a  joyous  strain  ! 
And  sing,  you  boatmen ;    the  Augusta  comes. 
[Sounds   of  joyjul  music  are  heard,    and 
singing,   as   the   pinnace   puts   off  with 
measured  beat  0}  oars. 
Nero.     It  hath  put  off :  she  hath  gone :  she 
sitteth  happy. 
See,    the    dead   woman    waves   her   hand    to 

me. 
Now  the  bark  turns  the  headland. 


sc.  IV  NERO  151 

Anicetus.  But  will  soon 

Steal  into  sight,  well  out  upon  the  bay. 

TiGELLiNUS.     Caesar,  let  none  deny  thou  art 
an  actor. 

Nero.    {Passionately?^  Was  I  all  actor  then  ? 
That  which  I  feigned 
I  felt,  and  when  it  was  my  cue  to  kiss  her, 
The  whole  of  childhood  rushed  into  the  kiss. 
When  it  was  in  my  part  to  cling  about  her, 
I  clung  about  her  mad  with  memories. 
The  water  in  my  eyes  rose  from  my  soul. 
And  flooding  from  the  heart  ran  do\vn  my  cheek. 
Did  my  voice  tremble  ?     Then  it  trembled  true 
With  human  agony  behind  the  art. 
Gods  !     What  a  scene  ! 

TiGELLiNUS.  Listen ' 


152  NERO  ACT  HI 

Anicetus.  She  is  well  out, 

Glassed  in  the  bay  with  all  her  lights  and  flags. 
Soon  will  a  crash  and  cr)'  come  in  our  ears. 

Nero.     [Going  out.]    How  calm  the   night 
when  I  would  have  it  wild ! 
Aloof  and  bright  which  should  have  rushed  to  me 
Hither  with  aid  of  thunder,  screen  of  lightning ! 
I  looked  for  reinforcement  from  the  sky. 
Arise,  you  veiling  clouds;    awake,  you  winds, 
And  stifle  with  your  roaring  human  cries. 
Not  a  breath  upon  my  cheek !     I  gasp  for  air. 
[To    Others.]       Do   you    suppose   the   very 

elements 
Are  conscious  of  the  workings  of  this  mind? 
So  careful  not  to  seem  to  share  my  guilt  ? 
Yet  dark  is  the  record  of  wind  and  wave. 


sc.  IV  NERO  153 

This  ocean  that  creeps  fawning  to  our  feet 
Comes  purring  o'er  a  million  wrecks  and  bones. 
If  the  cold  moon  hath  sinned  not,  she  hath  been 

pri\y. 
She  aids  me  not,  but  watches  quietly. 
A  placid  sea,  still  air,  and  bright  starhght. 

Anicetus.     But  Caesar,  see,  a  gradual  cloud 
hath  spread 
Over  the  moon ;   the  ship's  light  disappears. 
She  is  vanished. 

Xero.  She  is  veiled  from  sight. 

TiGELLixus.  My  eyes 

Can  find  her  not ;   she  is  enwrapped  in  mist. 

Seneca.     A  dimness  and  no  more. 

BuRRUS.  And  silence. 

Nero.  Hush ! 


154  NERO  ACT  III 

How  wonderful  this  waiting  and  this  pause. 
Could  one  convey  this  in  the  theatre? 
This  deep  suspense,  this  breathlessness  ?     Per- 
haps. 
The  air  weighs  on  the  brain  —  what  sound  was 
that? 
TiGELLiNUS.     Nothing,  sir. 
Nero.     In  this  thrill  a  leaf  would  thunder. 

\A  pause. 
I  never  noted  so  exactly  how 
The  shadow  of  that  cypress  falls  aslant 
Upon  the  dark  bank  yonder. 

BuRRUS.  Would  it  were  over ! 

Nero.    Feel   you   no   shuddering   pleasure 
in  this  pause? 
But  me  this  fraught  expectancy  allures; 


sc.  IV  NERO  155 

The  tingling  stillness,  for  each  moment  now 
The  crash,  a  cry,  may  come,  but  it  comes  not. 
TiGELLiNUS.     Anicetus,  have  you  bungled? 
\A  cry  is  heard  far  off,  and  a  crash,  then 
silence. 
Nero.  It  is  done. 

I  cannot  look :   peer  seaward,  one  of  you  — 
What  do  you  see? 

Seneca.  Darkness,  and  veiled  stars. 

Nero.     Is  there  no  shimmer  of  a  floating 
robe? 
Pierce  through  the  darkness! 
BuRRUS.  Nothing  visible. 

Nero.    I  seem  to  see  her  lying  amid  shells, 
And  strange  sea-things  come  round  her  wonder- 
ing, 


156  NERO  ACT  m 

Inspecting  her  with  cold  and  rheumy  eyes. 
The  water  sways  her  helpless  up  and  down. 

BuRRUS.     Caesar,  you  have  no  further  need 
of  me? 

Nero.     [Dreamily.]    No,  sir. 

BuRRUs.     Good-night,  and  pleasant  be  thy 
dreams. 

Seneca.        Or  me  ? 

Nero.  No,  no ! 

Seneca.  At  least  bear  witness,  sir, 

I  had  no  hand  in  this:  but  was  compelled, 
A  loth  spectator,  to  behold  thy  deed ! 

Anicetus.     Caesar,    you'll   not    forget   the 
service  done? 

Nero.    Never  shall  I  forget  thee,  Anicetus. 
Leave  me  alone. 


sc.  IV  NERO  157 

\Exeunt  all  but  Tigellinus,   who  creeps 
back  again. 
Tigellinus.        Sole  master  of  the  world ! 
Caesar  at  last :   the  Emperor  of  the  earth, 
Now  thou  art  free  —  to  write  immortal  verse, 
To  give  thy  genius  wing,  to  strike  the  stars. 
And  thou  hast  made  this  tragic  sacrifice. 
Slaying  what  is  most  dear,  most  close  to  thee, 
To  give  thy  being  vent  and  utterance. 
Apollo  shall  reward  thee  for  this  deed. 

Nero.     Go  to  thy  room,  old  man,  and  — 

wilt  thou  sleep? 
Tigellinus.     Already  I  am  drowsing;  early 
then 
To-morrow  I  will  come  to  you. 

Nero.  Good-night. 


1 58  NERO  ACT  in 

TiGELLiNUS.     Caesar,  good-night. 

\Exil  TiGELLINUS. 

[Thunder  heard. 

Nero.  Ah  !  thunder !  thou  art  come 

At  last,  too  late !     What  catches  at  my  heart  ? 

I  —  I  —  her  boy,   her  baby  that   was,  even  I 

Have  killed  her:   where  I  sucked  there  have  I 

struck. 
Mother !    Mother !  [He  drinks. 

The  anguish  of  it  hath  taken  hold  of  me, 
And  I  am  gripped  by  Nature.     O,  it  comes 
Upon  me,  this  too  natural  remorse. 
I  faint !    I  flinch  from  the  raw  agony ! 
I  cannot  face  this  common  human  throe ! 
Ah  !    Ah  !  the  crude  stab  of  reality  ! 
I  am  a  son,  and  I  have  killed  my  mother ! 


sc.  IV  NERO  1 59 

Why !    I  am  now  no  more  than  him  who  tills 

Or  reaps :  and  I  am  seized  by  primal  pangs. 

Mother !  [H'e  drinks. 

The  thunder  crieth  motherless. 

Ah !  how  this  sword  of  Hghtning  thrusts  at  me ! 

O,  all  the  artist  in  my  soul  is  shattered, 

And  I  am  hurled  into  humanity, 

Back  to  the  sweat  and  heart-break  of  mankind. 

I  am  broken  upon  the  jagged  spurs  of  the  earth. 

I  can  no  more  endure  it.     Mother ! 

\He  drinks  again,  walking  distractedly  to 
and  fro,  not  looking  seaward.  But  as  he 
at  last  turns,  slowly  out  from  the  sea 
appears  the  figure  of  Agrippina  with 
dripping  hair,  who  comes  slowly  towards 
him  in  silence. 


i6o  NERO  ACT  III,  sc.  IV 

\IIe  cries  aloud  and  falls  in  a  swoon.     She 
comes  and  looks  at  him. 
Agrippina.     Child ! 

[She  stoops,  removes  the  amulet  from  his 
arm,  flings  it  into  the  sea,  and  passes  out 
in  silence. 


SCENE  V 

Scene.  —  The  same.    Dawn  breaking;   Nero 
discovered  lying  in  a  swoon. 

Nero.    [Slowly.]   Dawn  !    In  the  night  o'er- 

past  a  lightning  flash ! 

Ah  !     I  remember  —  here  my  mother's  ghost 

Stood  —  on  this  ver}'  ground  —  I  feel  the  air 

Still  cold  from  her  —  and  here  the  Hghtning 

burned. 
So  I  awake  my  mother's  murderer. 
That    was   her   ghost   that   stole   on  me  sea- 
marred, 
Silent  —  the  ocean  falling  from  her  hair. 

M  l6l 


l62  NERO  ACT  III 

Enter  Tigellinus 
TiGELLiNus.     Caesar  at  last !    Sole  master 

of  the  world ! 
Nero.     O  Tigellinus,  in  the  mid  of  night, 
The  spirit  of  my  whelmed  mother  stole 
Hither  upon  me,  dumb  out  of  the  deep. 
Heaven  gave  a  flash :  I  saw  her  face  and  fell. 
Tigellinus.     Her  spirit !    Better  that  than 
she  herself. 
Dismiss  dark  fancies  now  —  this  day  thou  art 
free. 
Nero.     No,  but  enthralled  by  her  for  ever- 
more. 
She  is  my  air,  my  ocean,  and  my  sky. 
Tigellinus.    The  night  has  wrought  this 
sickly  mood  on  you  — 


sc.  V  NERO  163 

Natural  —  it  will  pass. 

Nero.  Never,   O  never ! 

You  flatter,  you  console,  you  would  assuage, 
But  you  are  human,  can  forget  and  change. 
But  yonder  rocky  coast  remembers  yet. 
That  countenance  changes  not :  that  conscious 

bay 
Maintains  its  everlasting  memory. 
This  privy  region  saw,  and  it  shall  see 
For  ever  what  was  done.     The  amulet ! 
Filched  from  me !     Was  it  then  a  ghost  I  saw  ? 

Enter  Seaman  hurriedly^  followed  by  Burrus 

Seaman.     Caesar,  my  news  must  plead  for 
tliis  intrusion. 
I  was  aboard  the  ship  whereon  the  Augusta 


164  NERO  ACT  III 

Set  sail :  when  the  roof  fell,  thy  mother's  maid 
Cried  '  Save  me  !     I  am  the  Emperor's  mother ! ' 

Straight 
Crushed  under  many  a  blow,  she  dropped  and 

died. 
But  silently  thy  mother  Agrippina 
Shd  from  the  ship  into  the  water  and  swam 
Shoreward.     With  white  and  jewelled  arms  she 

thrust 
Out   through   the    waves   and    lay    upon  the 

foam. 
We   heard  her  through  the  ripple    breathing 

deep, 
And  when  we  heard  no  more,  we  watched  her 

still  — 
Her  hair  behind  her  blowing  into  gold 


sc.  V  NERO  165 

As  she  did  glimmer  o'er  the  gloomy  deep; 
And  all  the  stars  swam  with   her  through  the 

heavens, 
The  hurrying  moon  Hghted  her  with  a  torch, 
The  sea  was  loth  to  lose  her,  and  the  shore 
Yearned    for    her;    till    we    lost    her   in   the 

dark, 
Save  now  and  then  some  splendid  leap  of  the 
head. 
Nero.     You  know  not  if  she  be  alive  or 

dead? 
Seaman.      Caesar,     rejoice  —  thy    mother 

lives. 
Nero.       She  lives  ? 

Seaman.    When  I  at  last  touched  shore,  I 
spoke  ^^^th  two 


l66  NERO  ACT  III 

Night-wandering    fishermen.    These    two,    it 

seems, 
Had  borne  her  in  their  boat  across  the  bay 
To  her  own  villa. 
Nero.     [Falling  hysterically  on  neck  of  Sea- 
man.]   I  am  no  murderer  then! 
TiGELLiNus.     Have     you     considered,     sir, 
what  now  may  urge 
Thy  mother,  Agrippina,  knowing  all. 
Seeing  that  by  no  chance  or  accident 
Or  sudden  flurry  of  the  ocean  floor 
The    ship   collapsed.     Safe  is   she,    but   how 

long? 
Will  she  not  burst  upon  us  suddenly? 
Sir,  she  must  die  to-night. 
Nero.  I'll  not  attempt 


sc.  V  NERO  167 

A  second  time  that  life  the  sea  restored ; 
She  is  too  vast  a  spirit  to  surprise. 

Even  Nature  stood  aloof 

My  mother  shall  be  gloriously  caged, 
Imprisoned  in  purple  and  immured  in  gold. 
In  some  magnificent  captivity 
Worthy  the  captive  let  her  day  decKne. 

[Shouts  witlwut:  enter  BuRRUS.- 
BuRRUS.     Caesar,  great  news  I  bring:  the 
Armenian 
Lies  helpless  on  Tigranocerta's  plain 
O'erwhelmed  by  Corbulo,  and  the  huge  host 
Dissolved.     Armenia  lies  beneath  your  feet: 
Rome  yearns  to  welcome  you. 

Nero.  To  Rome  I  go 

Free-souled  and  guiltless  of  a  mother's  blood, 


i68  NERO  ACT  III 

Resume  the  accustomed  feast,   the  race,   the 

song, 
And  I  shall  be  received  with  public  joy 
And  clamour  of  congratulating  Rome. 

[Great  cheering  without :  exit  Nero. 

[A  pause. 
TiGELLiNUS.     Burrus,    she'll    strike    at   us 
whate'er  the  cost : 
She'll  slay  the  ministers  if  not  the  master. 
Burrus.     We   are   both   dead   unless  some 
sudden  scheme  — 

Enter  Anicetus  at  back 

[Turning.]    Here  is  another  doomed  as  we  our- 
selves. 
TiGELLiNUS.   Ah,  Anicetus  !  Agrippina  lives, 


sc.  V  NERO  169 

And    she    will   launch    her   vengeance  on  us 

three, 
But  first  on  you :   you  first  set  Nero  on  — 
You  first  proposed  the  scheme.     You  on  the  sea 
Bungled  —  Now  on  the  land  retrieve  the  error. 
To  you  we  look. 

Enter  Poppaea  \rom  behind  and  stands  listening. 

Anicetus.  My  error  is  repaired 

Already.  I  first  heard  the  Augusta  lived, 
And  instantly  despatched  a  faithful  troop 
To  slay  her  at  her  villa  o'er  the  bay. 

TiGELLiNUS.     How  shall  we  know  if  they 

have  found  and  slain  her? 
Anicetus.     All   this  I  have   arranged  and 
clearly  planned. 


lyo  NERO  ACT  iii 

If  they  shall  find  that  she  hath  fled  to  Rome, 
Hark  for  one  trumpet-call  across  the  bay: 
If  they  have  found  her  at  the  villa,  then 
Hark  for  two  trumpet-calls  across  the  bay: 
If  they  have  found  her  and  have  slain  her, 

then 
Hark  for  three  trumpet-calls  across  the  bay ! 
\A  hurst  0}  music  without,  and  sounds  0} 

advancing  procession. 
[Enter  soldiers  and  satellites,  with  attend- 
ants bearing  a  litter.     Lastly  Nero. 
TiGELLiNUS.     Now  as  a  conqueror  in  tri- 
umphant vein 
Ride   through  the  thundering  ways   of  risen 

Rome, 
Anticipating  the  Armenian  car.  ^ 


sc.  V  NERO  171 

Nero.     {Ascending    litter.]      Set    out    for 
Rome !     And  you,  accusing  coasts, 
Accuse  no  more.     Guiltless  I  say  farewell, 
And  with  a  light  heart  journey  toward  Rome. 
Joyous  I  go,  for  Agrippina  Uves. 

[A  great  triumphal  shout  swells  up  again, 
and  to  the  sound  0}  military  music,  Nero 
and  the  procession  pass  off.  Meanwhile 
TiGELLiNUS  is  left  in  a  listening  attitude, 
POPPAEA  stands  breathless  at  back. 
There  is  a  pause.  Then  a  trumpet-call 
is  heard  far  off;  a  second;  and  a  third. 
PoppAEA  rushes  to  Tigellinus  and 
clasps  his  hand. 


ACT   IV 


SCENE   I 

Scene.  —  A  tower  overlooking  Rome, 

Enter  Seneca,  Burrus,  and  Physician 

Seneca.     How  dark  the  future  of  the  Empire 
glooms ! 

Burrus.     Now  the  Gaul  mutters :  the  Prae- 
torians 
Sullenly  snarl. 

Seneca.  The  Christians  privily 

Conspire. 

Burrus.    The  legions  waver  and  whisper 
too. 

Seneca.    [To    Physician.]    What    of    the 

Emperor? 

175 


176  NERO  ACT  IV 

Physician.  Through  Campania 

He  rushes:   and  distracted  to  and  fro 
Would  fly  now  here,  now  there ;    behind  each 

woe 
He  sees  the  angered  shade  of  Agrippina. 
Now    hearing     that     Poppaea    sinks    toward 

death, 
Hither  is  he  fast  hurrying. 

Seneca.  Ah,  Poppaea, 

No   sooner   Empress    made    than    she    must 

die 

BuRRUS.     See:   she  is  carried  hither. 
Seneca.  Here  to  look 

Her  last  upon  the  glory  of  the  earth. 

[Exeunt  Seneca,  Burrus,  and  Physician. 
[Poppaea  enters,  supported  by  handmaids. 


sc.  I  NERO  177 

She  takes  a  long  look  at  Rome,  then  is 
assisted  down  to  couch. 
PoPPAEA.     Give  me  the  glass  again :  beauti- 
ful yet ! 
Tliis  face  can  still  endure  the  sunset  glow, 
No  need  is  there  for  me  to  sue  the  shadow, 
Perfect  out  of  the  glory  I  am  going. 

Myrrha.     Lady,  the  mood  will  pass :    still 

you  are  young. 
Poppaea.     Why  comes  not  Nero  near  me? 
O  he  loathes 
Sickness  or  sadness  or  the  touch  of  trouble 

Myrrha.   Nay,  lady;  hither  he  is  riding  fast, 
In  fury  spurring  from  Campania, 
And  trouble  upon  trouble  falls  on  him  — 
Misfortune  follows  him  like  a  faithful  hound. 


178  NERO  ACT  IV 

POPPAEA.     I  snared  him,  Myrrha,  once ;  let 
him  flutter  away ! 
But  to  relinquish  the  wide  earth  at  last, 
And  flit  a  faint  thing  by  a  shadowy  river, 
Or  yearning  without  blood  upon  the  bank  — 
The  loneliness  of  death  !    To  go  to  strangers  — 

Into  a  world  of  whispers 

[Looking  at  and  lifting  her  hair. 

And  this  hair 

Rolhng  about  me  like  a  Ughted  sea 

Which  was  my  glory  and  the  theme  of  the  earth. 

Look!     Must  this  go?    The  grave  shall  have 

these  eyes 
Which  were  the  bliss  of  burning  Emperors. 
After  what  time,  what  labour  the  high  gods 
Builded  the  body  of  this  beauty  up ! 


sc.  I  NERO  179 

Now  at  a  whim  they  shatter  it !     More  light ! 
I'll  catch  the  last  of  the  sun. 

Enter  Slave 

Slave.  Mistress,  below 

The  lady  Acte  stands  and  asks  to  see  you. 
PoPPAEA.     Come  to  inspect  me  fading:  I 
fear  not. 
Even  a  woman's  eyes  I  need  not  shun. 
Bring  her.  {Exit  Slave. 

Now,  Myrrha,  watch  her  hungering  eyes. 

Enter  Acte,  ushered  by  Slave 

PoppAEA.     [Vehemently.']     Take  Nero!      I 

am  dying. 
Acte.  Ah,  not  yet! 


i8o  NERO  ACT  IV 

POPPAEA.     I  am  dying.     But  you  shall  not 
hold  him  long  — 
O,  do  not  think  it.     Can  you  queen  his  heart? 
Can  you  be  storm  a  moment,  sun  the  next  ? 
A  month,  a  long  day  under  open  skies, 
Would  find  your  art  exhausted,  ended.     I ! 
I  was  a  hundred  women  in  an  hour, 
And  sweeter  at  each  moment  than  them  all. 
Why,  I  have  struck  him  in  the  face  and  laughed. 

AcTE.     I  love  him :  that  concerns  not  him, 
nor  you. 
A    different    goal   I    would    have   sought   for 

him, 
A  garment  not  of  purple,  but  of  peace. 

PoppAEA.     Of  peace  !     Ha,  ha  ! 

AcTE.  Vain  now  —  I  know  it,  vain. 


sc.  I  NERO  i8i 

But  if  your  words  are  true,  and  death  is  on 

you, 
Let  us  two  at  the  least  be  friends  at  last. 
POPPAEA.     I  bear  no  rancour  —  and  yet  if  I 
dreamed 
That  I  was  leaving  you  upon  his  bosom  — 
But  no :    let  there  be  peace  between  us  two. 
[AcTE  comes  and  kisses  her. 
Your  kiss  falls  kind  upon  my  loneliness. 
But,  Acte,  to  let  go  of  glory  thus  — 
For  I  have  drunk  of  empire,  and  what  cup 
Afterward  can  you  offer  to  these  lips  ? 

Acte.     Of  late  there  has  been  stealing  on 
my  mind 
A  strange  hope  —  a  new  vision. 

PopPAEA.  What  is  this? 


l82  NERO  ACT  IV 

AcTE.     Do   not  laugh   out  at  me:    a  sect 
despised  — 
The  Christians,  tell  us  of  an  after  life, 
A  glory  on  the  other  side  the  grave. 
If  there  should  be  a  kingdom  not  of  this  world, 
A  spirit  throne,  a  city  of  the  soul ! 

PoppAEA,     I  want  no   spirit  kingdom  after 
death. 
The  splendid  sun,  the  purple,  and  the  crown. 
These  I  have  known,  and  I  am  losing  them. 
AcTE.     Yet  if  the  sun,  the  purple,  and  the 
crown 
Were  but  the  shadows  of  another  sun, 
Splendider  —  a  more  dazzling  diadem  ? 
PoppAEA.     These  can  I  see  at  least,  and  feel, 
and  hear. 


sc.  I  NERO  183 

AcTE.     Yes,  with  a  mortal  touch  that  falters 

now. 
POPPAEA.     \Sohhing.\    O  Acte,  to  be  dumb, 

and  deaf,  and  bhnd ! 
Acte.     Or  Hve  again  with  more  transcendent 
sense, 
Hearing  unchecked,  and  unimpeded  sight. 
If  we  who  walk  now,  then  should  wing  the  air, 
Who  stammer  now,  then  should  discard  the 

voice. 
Who  grope  now,  then  should  see  with  other 

sight, 
And  send  new  eyes  about  the  universe. 

PoPPAEA.     O,  this  is  madness! 

Acte.  Is  it?    Is  it?    Well — 

Yet  have  I  heard  this  ragged  people  speak, 


184  NERO  ACr  IV,  sc.  I 

And  they  have  stirred  me  strangely:   life  they 

scorn, 
And  yearn  for  death's  tremendous  liberty, 
But  I  —  I  cannot  speak ;    yet  I  beUeve 
There  is  a  new  air  blowing  on  the  world, 
And  a  new  budding  underneath  the  earth. 

PoppAEA.     Ah,  ah !  the  sun  !     The  sun  !    It 
goeth  down, 
How  cold  it  grows :  the  night  comes  down  on  me. 
I'll  have  no  lamp :  but  hold  my  hand  in  thine. 

AcTE.     Sister,  forget  the  world,  it  passeth. 

PoppAEA.     [Falling  back.]    Rome! 


SCENE  II 

Scene.  —  The  same.     Seneca,  Burrus, 
AcTE,  and  Physicl\n. 

Physician.     The    Emperor    comes     from 
gazing  on  Poppaea. 
What  woe  may  that  dead    face  not  work  on 

him, 
After  such  rain  of  dark  calamities ! 

Seneca.     Why  hath  he  summoned  me? 

Physician.  He  knows  not  why. 

The  infatuate  orgies  in  Campania, 

Defeat,  revolt,  have  wrought  upon  his  mind, 

Till  it  begins  to  reel  —  behind  each  woe 

He  sees  the  angered  shade  of  Aggrippina. 
i8s 


1 86  NERO  ACT  IV 

[Enter  Nero  with  tablets,  murmuring  to 
himself.     He   comes   to   the  Council- 
lors,   gazes    at    them,    and    retires    to 
parapet. 
'  Beautiful  on  her  bed  Poppaea  lay '  — 
I  have  begun  to  write  her  epitaph. 

[He  again  gazes  over  parapet,  murmuring 
to  himself.     Then  turning. 
Ah,  blow  supreme  !     Ah,  ultimate  injury  ! 
I  can  no  longer  write :  my  brain  is  barren. 
My  gift,  my  gift,  thou  hast  left  me.     Let  me 

die! 
Ah !  what  an  artist  perishes  in  me. 

[He  again  returns  to  parapet,  gazing  and 
murmuring,  and  throws  his  tablets  from 
him. 


sc.  II  NERO  187 

Dead  Agrippina  rages  unappeased. 
At  night  I  hear  the  traihng  of  a  robe, 
And  the  slain  woman  pauses  at  my  door. 
O !  she  is  mightier  having  drunk  of  death; 
Now  hath  she  haled  Poppaea  from  my  arms ; 
Last    doth    she   quench   the   holy  fire  within 

me 

Enter  Messenger 

Messenger.     Caesar,   I  bring  dark  news: 
Boadicea  the  British  Queen  is  risen. 
And  like  a  fire  is  hissing  through  the  isle, 
Londinium  and  Camulodunum 
In  ashes  lie:    the  loosed  barbarians 
In  madness  rage  and  ravish,  murder  and  bum. 

BuRRUS.     Caesar,  despatch. 

\Brings  Nero  paper. 


1 88  NERO  ACT  IV 

Nero.  Ah,  this  is  still  the  deed 

Of  Agrippina.     Listen  !     Did  ye  not  hear 
The  rustle  of  a  robe  ?  [Starting  up. 

Ah  !  thou  art  come ! 
I  —  I  no  order  gave !    Then  did  the  brine 
Drop  from  thy  hair:  but  now  blood  falls  from' 

thee; 
There,  where  they  struck  thee,  once  did  I  sleep 

sound. 
What  shall  I  do  to  appease  thee?    Let  me  die 
Rather  than  see  that  wonder  on  thy  face, 
And  stare  on  me  of  terrible  surprise. 
Thou  com'st  upon  me ! 
AcTE.  Ah !  what  ails  your  mind  ? 

Nero.     She  is  gone !    The  red  drops  those 
that  fell  from  her ! 


sc.  II  NERO  189 

AcTE.     Lo  !  I  am  with  thee  ! 

Nero.  Thou  !    And  who  art  thou  ? 

Enter  in  great  haste  an  Officer,  followed  by 
Others 

Officer.     Caesar,  Rome  bums !    We  can- 
not fight  the  fire 
Which  blazes  and  consumes.     How  it  arose 
None  knows  and  none  can  tell.     What  shall  we 
do? 
Another.     It    sprung     in     the     Suburra: 
whether  lit 
By   accident,   dropped   torch,   or  smouldering 

brand 

Another.     Or  by  design • 

Another.  Caesar,  the  Christians, 


I90  NERO  ACT  IV 

Who    hate    the  human  race,  have  done  this 

thing : 
They  loathe  thy  rule  and  would  abolish  thee, 
And  with  thee,  Rome. 

Another.  They  have  a  prophecy 

That  now  the  world  is  ending,  and  in  fire 
The  globe  shall  shrivel,  and  this  empire  fall 
In  cinders. 
Another.     And   the    moon    be    turned    to 

blood. 
Nero.     The  moon  be  turned  to  blood  !     But 
that  is  fine ! 
These  Christians  have  imaginations  then ! 
The  moon  in  blood,  and  burning  universe  ! 
Why,    I    myself    might    have    conceived  that 
scene ! 


sc.  II  NERO  191 

Enter  Others  ]rom  the  opposite  side 

Officer.    Caesar,  what  shall  be  done  ?    Still 

spreads  the  fire ! 
A  quarter  of  Rome  in  ashes  lies  already, 
And  like  a  blackened  corpse:  and  screaming 

mothers, 
Hugging  their  babes,  dash  through  the  fearful 

flames. 
And  old  men  totter  gasping  through  the  blaze 
Or  fall  scorched  to  the  ground.     Stifled  with 

smoke 
The  population  from  their  houses  reel. 
Meantime  the  Christians,  prophesying  woe 
And  final  doom  upon  a  wicked  world, 
Hither  and  thither  run,  and  uith  their  dark 


192  NERO  ACT  IV 

Forebodings  madden  all  the  minds  of  men. 
To  thee  they  point !    To  thee,  the  source  of 

fire, 
Who  has  drawn  down  on  them  celestial  flame. 
Nero.     Magnificent !     The  aim  of  heavenly 

fire! 
Another.    They  say  the  world  shall  crumble, 
and  the  skies 
Fall,  and  their  God  come  in  the  clouds  of  heaven 
To  judge  the  earth ! 

Another.  But  we  are  wasting  breath 

Over  the  Christians :   what  now  shall  be  done  ? 

To  thee,  Caesar,  to  thee,  we  come:    for  thou 

Alone  niayst  with  this  conflagration  cope. 

Nero.     Listen  !     Did  ye  not  hear  a  wailing 

then? 


sc.  II  NERO  193 

The  wailing  of  a  woman  in  her  grave? 
Again  !     A  waihng,  and  I  know  the  voice ! 

Enter  Others  hastily 

Messenger.     Caesar,  the  fire  has  reached 
the  Palatine ! 
Rome  will  be  ashes  soon. 

Another.  We  have  fought  fire 

With  water:   matched  the  elements  in  vain, 

For  the  fire  triumphs:   Caesar,  what  aid  from 

thee? 

Enter  Another 

Messenger.     Caesar,  the  temple  of  Jupiter 

is  aflame. 

The  shrine  of  Vesta  next   will   crash  to  the 

earth, 
o 


194  NERO  ACT  IV 

Another.     Open  the  sluices  of  the  Campus 

Martius. 
Another.     Issue  some  sudden  edict :    give 

command. 
Nero.     No  edict  will  I  issue,  or  command. 
Let  the  fire  rage. 
Chorus.  O  Caesar! 

Nero.  Let  it  rage  ! 

Another.     Caesar,  'tis  said  this  fire  was  lit 
by  thee. 
That  thou  wouldst  bum  old  Rome  to  build  a 

new, 
A  Rome  more  glorious  issuing  from  the  flames : 
This  tale  hath  maddened  all  the  common  folk 
Who,  from  their  smouldering  homes,  curse  thee 
aloud. 


sc.  II  NERO  195 

Nero.    This  fire  is  not  the   act.  of  mortal 
mind, 
But  is  the  huge  conception  of  a  spirit 
Dreaming  beyond  the  tomb  a  mighty  thought. 
She  would  express  herself  in  burning  fire: 
This  is  the  awful  vengeance  of  the  dead ; 
This  is  my  mother  Agrippina's  deed. 
I  will  not  baulk  the  fury  of  her  spirit. 
No !    Let  her  glut  her  anger  on  the  city, 
For  only  Rome  in  ashes  can  appease  her, 
Let  the  fire  rage  and  purge  me  of  her  blood ! 
\The  jiame  flashes  upward. 

Rage! 

Rage  on ! 

See,  see ! 

How  beautiful ! 


196  NERO  ACT  IV 

Like  a  rose  magnificently  burning ! 

\The  fame  flashes  up. 
Rage  on ! 
Thou  art  that  which  poets  use, 

Or  which  consumes  them. 
Thou  art  in  me! 
Thou  dreadful  womb  of  mighty  spirits, 

And  crimson  sepulchre  of  them ! 

[The  fame  fashes  up. 
Blaze!    Blaze! 
How  it  eats  and  eats ! 

How  it  drinks ! 
What  hunger  is  like  unto  the  hunger  of  fire? 
What    thirst    is    hke    unto   the   thirst   of 
flame? 

[The  fame  fashes  up. 


5C.  II  NERO  197 

O  fury  superb ! 
O  incurable  lust  of  ruin ! 
O  panting  perdition ! 
O  splendid  devastation ! 
I,  I,  too,  have  felt  it ! 
To  destroy  —  to  destroy  ! 
To  leave  behind  me  ashes,  ashes. 

\The  -flame  flashes  up. 
Rage !    Rage  on  ! 
Or  art  thou  passion,  art  thou  desire? 
Ah  !   terrible  kiss  ! 

[The  flame  flashes  up. 

Now  hear  it,  hear  it ! 

A  hiss  as  from  mighty  serpents, 

The  dry,  licking,  wicked  tongues ! 
Wouldst  thou  sting  the  earth  to  death? 


198  NERO  ACT  IV 

What  a  career ! 
To  clasp  and  devour  and  kill ! 
To  dance  over  the  world  as  a  frenzied 
dancer 
With  whirling  skirts  of  world-wide  flame ! 

\The  -flame  flashes  up. 
Blaze !     Blaze ! 
Or  art  thou  madness  visible, 
Insanity  seizing  the  rolhng  heavens. 

[He  points  up. 
Thou,  Thou,  didst  create  the  world 

In  the  stars  innumerably  smiling. 
Thou  art  Ufe,  thou  art  God,  thou  art  I ! 

[The  flame  flashes  up. 
Mother !    Mother ! 
This  is  thy  deed. 


sc.  11  NERO  199 

Hist !    Hist !    can  you  not  see  her 
Stealing  with  lighted  torch? 
She  makes  no  sound,  she  hath  a  spirit's  tread. 
Hast  thou  sated  thy  vengeance  yet  ? 
Art  thou  appeased? 

yrhe  jlame  flashes  up. 
Be  satisfied  with  nothing  but  the  world, 
The  world  alone  is  fuel  for  thee. 
Mother ! 

[The  flame  flashes  up. 
And  I !     See  what  a  fire  I  have  given  thee, 

Rome  for  a  funeral  couch  ! 
Had  Achilles  a  pyre  Uke  to  this 

Or  had  Patroclus? 
Had  they  mourners  such  as  I  give  to  thee, 
Bereaved  mothers  and  babes? 


200  NERO  ACT  IV,  SC.  11 

Now  let  the  wailing  cease  from  thy  tomb, 

Here  is  a  mightier  wail ! 
Now  let  the  haunting  trumpet  be  dumb ! 
AcTE.     Nero ! 
Nero.     Blaze !    Rage !     Blaze ! 

\The  'flame  flashes  up  more  fervently. 
For  now  am  I  free  of  thy  blood, 
I  have  appeased  and  atoned. 
Have  atoned  with  cries,  with  crashings,  and 
with  flaming. 
Thy  blood  is  no  more  on  my  head; 
I  am  purged,  I  am  cleansed ; 
I  have  given  thee  flaming  Rome  for  the  bed  of 
thy  death ! 

O  Agrippina ! 
[He  falls  in  a  swoon  —  Acte  runs  towards  him. 


FAUST 

FREELY  ADAPTED   FROM   GOETHE'S 
DRAMATIC   POEM 

BY 

STEPHEN  PHILLIPS   and  J.  COMYNS   CARR 


CHARACTERS 


Faust 

Burgomaster 

Mephistopheles 

Frosch 

Margaret 

SlEBEL 

Martha 

LiSBETH 

Valentine 

Els  A 

Brander 

Lisa 

Altmayer 

Laine 

The  ^ 

rVlTCH 

Apes,  Witches, 

Studen 

TS,    Soldiers,  etc.    etc. 

PROLOGUE 


PROLOGUE 

Scene.  —  A  range  of  mountains  between  Heaven 
and  Earth. 
[The   Archangels    Raphael,    Gabriel,  and 
Michael  discovered.    A  faint  Chorus  of 
invisible  Angels  from  above. 
Raphael.     The  sun  his  ancient  music  makes, 
Rolling  amid  the  rival  spheres; 
Still  his  predestined  course  he  takes 

In  thunder  speed  throughout  the  years. 
By  angels,  though  uncomprehended. 

Strength  from  his  aspect  still  is  drawn; 
The  universe  abideth  splendid. 

And  fresh  as  at  Creation's  dawn. 


FAUST  PROLOGUE 

Gabriel.     Swift,  beyond  understanding  quite, 

Circles  the  earth  in  glorious  guise, 
Now  plunged  into  profoundest  night, 

Now  sparkling  into  paradise. 
The  ocean  foams  up  from  the  deep. 

And  over  ricks  and  crags  is  hurled, 
And  crags  and  ocean  onward  sweep  — 

On  with  the  rapid  spheres  are  whirled. 
Michael.     Contending  tempests  rage  and  rain 

From  land  to  land,  from  sea  to  sea; 
Weaving  a  girdle  and  a  chain 

Out  of  their  hissing  enmity. 
A  flashing  desolation  thence 

Ushers  the  awful  thunder-way; 
But,  Lord,  Thy  servants  reverence 

The  gentle  order  of  the  day. 


PROLOGUE  FAUST 

All    Three.     By    angels,    though    uncompre- 
hended, 

Strength  from  Thy  aspect  still  is  drawn; 
The  universe  abideth  splendid, 

And  fresh  as  at  Creation's  dawn. 

[Mephistopheles  appears  suddenly  on  the 
peak.  He  is  dressed  in  a  glinwjering  robe 
suggestive  of  a  glory  obscured. 

[Note  on  Appearance  of  Mephistoph- 
eles :  —  Both  in  the  Prologue  and  in  the 
Epilogue  of  this  drama  Mephistopheles 
appears  as  the  Fallen  Angel  or  Satan  of 
tradition.  His  speech  is  suited  to  this 
character.  But  when,  in  pursuit  of  his 
wager  and  the  soul  of  Faust,  he  appears 
on  earth,  he  has  put  on  the  form  he  judges 


FA  UST  PROLOGUE 

most   serviceable   to    his    ends  —  that   of  a 

cavalier-troubadour  of  the  Middle  Ages;  and 

his  speech  is  light,  cynical,  and  of  the  world. 

Mephistopheles.     Hail  to  mine  ancient  friends, 

my  present  foes! 

This  neutral  mountain  between  Hell  and  Heaven 

Is  still  permitted  to  these  exiled  feet; 

Here  may  my  Darkness  mingle  with  your  Light. 

Raphael.     Whence  com'st  thou  now? 

Mephistopheles.  From 

yonder  speck,  the  earth; 

From  wandering  up  and  down  upon  the  place, 

And  pacing  to  and  fro  in  hate  unresting. 

And  yet  man  so  torments  himself,  my  toil 

Seems  idle:    and  heedless  my  unceasing  task. 

I  would  he  were  more  difficult  to  damn! 
xii 


PROLOGUE  FA  UST 

He  is  a  grasshopper  that  tiies  and  springs, 
And  from  the  grass  the  same  old  ditty  sends. 
Better  he  always  lay  among  the  grass. 
Had  I  a  free  rein  given  me  to  seduce, 
There  is  no  soul  on  earth  I  could  not  win 
Were  it  permitted  me. 

[Stretching  his  hand  upwards. 
[An  AxGEL  descends  from  above,  and  stands 
on  a  superior  peak  at  hack. 
Angel.  It  is  permitted ! 

Man  writhes  to  glory  but  through  pain  of  error. 
Mephistopheles.     Angel      sent     down     from 
bliss!     Have  I  permission 
Whence  all  permission  flows,  to  lure  and  snare 
A  human  soul,  and  draw  it  my  own  way? 
However  rich  or  rare,  I  ^^•ill  seduce  it. 


XIU 


FA  UST  PROLOGUE 

Angel.     Whence    all    permission    flows,    thou 

hast  permission. 
Mephistopheles.      a      wager      vast!      Look 

down  upon  the  earth !     \He  points  downward. 
Whom  shall  I  choose?     That  theologian 
That   sits   and   blinks   at   Truth,    and   toys   with 

words  ? 
Too  easy!     Or  yonder  mighty  emperor, 
Who  sitteth,  dark  against  the  Orient, 
Throned    above    prostrate    millions?       No,    not 

him! 
My  victory  shall  be  deep  and  not  of  show. 
Or  yonder  lady  in  the  convent  garden 
Pure    from    the    world,    and    pacing    lawns    of 

peace  ? 

Not  her !     No  spirit  starved  will  I  select ! 
xiv 


PROLOGUE  FA  US  T 

See !     I  will  choose  for  test  a  rarer  soul ! 
Yonder  he  sits,  the  famous  Doctor  Faust. 
Has  Heaven  a  better  servant  on  the  earth? 
Angel.     None ! 

Mephistopheles.     Yonder  soul  I  choose  then 
for  my  wager; 

Nothing  the  tumult  of  his  heart  assuages, 

For  all  of  earth  and  all  of  heaven  he  asks. 

The  ferment  drives  him  to  the  far-away. 

And  yet  is  he  half-conscious  of  his  madness. 

To  grasp  the  far  the  near  he  hath  neglected, 

And  still  has  nothing  grasped,  and  now  regrets 

The  once  despised  pleasures  of  the  world. 

I  will  so  draw  him  onward  to  lost  pleasures, 

So  plunge  him  deep  in  sensuality, 

His  heavy  soul  no  more  shall  upward  strive. 

XV 


FAUST  PROLOGUE 

Angel.     So  long   as   he   is   breathing  on   the 

earth, 

So  long  is  nothing  unto  thee  forbidden. 

Thou  art  permitted  to  ensnare  the  spirit 

Of  Faust,  and  turn  it  from  the  fountain-head; 

Till     thou    shalt    stand    abashed    at    last,    and 

learn 

That     a    good    man,    though    in    the    dark    he 

strives. 

Hath  still  an  instinct  for  the  truer  way. 

Raphael.     And    thou    shalt    batter    thee,    and 

all  in  vain, 

Against  an  influence  appearing  slight. 

And  frail  as  the  resistance  of  a  flower; 

And  yet  a  power  thou  canst  not  comprehend. 

He  through  the  woman-soul  at  last  shall  win. 
xvi 


PROLOGUE  FAUST 

Angel.     Man  is   too  prone   to   slumber,   and 

he  needs 

As  a  companion  one  who  goads  and  works, 

And  who,  being  devil,  must  be  up  and  doing. 

All  Three.     But  we  to  Eternal  Beauty  turn 

again, 

Lord,  and  in  bliss  Thy  splendours  contemplate; 

Though  we  Thy  angels  may  not  fathom  them, 

Thy  works  are  fresh  as  at  Creation's  day. 

Raphael.       [Turning  towards  Mephistophe- 

LES.]    And  thou!    Wilt  thou  not  cease  vain 

war  with  Heaven? 

To  will  the  evil,  and  achieve  the  good? 

Mephistopheles.     Never!     Until     that     hour 

when  the  Usurper, 

Who  wrested  from  my  mother  Night  her  reign, 
XV  ii 


FA  UST  PROLOGUE 

And  fevered  Chaos  with  his  blistering  stars, 

Shall  be  himself  deposed,  consent,  and  cease. 

For  this  same  light  but  lives  by  what  it  breeds, 

A  carrion  offspring  suckled  by  the  sun. 

And  never  will  I  cease  this  war  with  Heaven 

Till  the  bound  elements  shall  mutiny. 

And  the  imprisoned  thunder  shall  be  freed, 

And  old  tremendous  blasts  shall  fly  abroad, 

And  all  His  millions  of  rash  fires  be  quenched; 

And  space  shall  be  again  as  once  it  was 

Ere  He  disturbed  us  with  his  fiery  brain, 

Timeless   and  tideless,   limitless   and  dark ! 

Mother !     Still  crouching  on  the  bounds  of  light, 

With  face  of  sea  and  hair  of  tempest,  still 

Huddled  in  huge  and  immemorial  hate, 

Behold  thy  son,  and  some  dark  aid  extend! 
xviii 


PROLOGUE  FAUST 

So,  Faust,  to  win  this  wager  and  thy  soul 
Pass  we  from  heaven  across  the  earth  to  hell. 
{Thunder  and  darkness  as  Mephistopheles, 
with    wings     outspread,     swoops    suddenly 
like  lightning  downwards  to  the  earth. 


ACT  I 


ACT  I 

Scene.  —  A  gloomy,  narrow  Gothic  chamber. 

[Faust  at  his  desk,   restless.     Midnight. 
Faust.     Alas !     What  boots  it  to  have  mastered 
now  ly  \ oi^     V  \ avT  ^  -^  '-^  ^ 

Philosophy,  medicine,  even  theology. 
With  unremitting  zeal  and  toil  unceasing? 
Lo !    here  I  sit  no  wiser  than  before. 
True  !    I  can  lead  my  scholars  by  the  nose; 
They  hail  me  master,  doctor,  fawn  on  me,    "^ 
But  I,  I  know  how  deep  is  my  defeat, 
I  only  know  that  nothing  can  be  known. 

[.4  pause. 


4  FAUST  ACT 

And  urged  by  this  insane  and  desert  thirst, 
What    have    I    missed!     All    honour,    rank,    and 

wealth, 
Even  the  thrill  of  kisses  and  of  wine. 
Science,  farewell !     To  Magic  now  I  turn, 
From  Magic  I  may  wring  some  secret  yet 
And  learn  what  forces  bind  and  guide  the  world. 
[Moonlight  floods  the  room. 

0  thou  full  moon,  whom  I  so  many  a  night 
Have     watched     ascending!     Would     that     thou 

didst  gaze 
For  the  last  time  upon  my  trouble !     Ah, 
If  now  no  longer  stifling  amid  books, 

1  in  thine  argent  twilight  floated  free! 
But  no,  this  dungeon-lumber  I  behold, 
A  self-created  prison  of  mould  and  dust, 


I  FAUST  5 

Where  God  His  pulsing  human  creature  set, 
I  dwell  but  with  the  dead  —  in  what  a  world  ! 

[He  turns  to  the  Magic  book. 
Here  is  my  way  of  freedom :  here  the  sign 
Of  the  Earth-Spirit.     How  dost  thou  invade  me ! 
How  like  new  wine  thou  runnest  in  my  veins ! 
The  woe  of  Earth,  the  bliss  of  Earth  innte  me. 
The  lamp  goes  out  —  a  horror  from  the  roof 
Descends  on  me.     Spirit,  reveal  thyself! 
I  feel  thee  suck  my  soul,  absorb  my  heart, 
rU  look  on  thee,  although  my  life  it  cost  me. 
[He  seizes  the  book  and  pronoiin<:es  the  sign  of 
the  Earth-Spirit. 

[The  Spirit  appears  in  aflame. 
Spirit.     WTio  calls  me  ? 
Faust.  Terrible  to  look  on ! 


6  FAUST  ACT 

Spirit.  Me 

Hast  thou  with  might  attracted  from  my  sphere. 

Faust.     Woe  !     I  endure  not  thee  ! 

Spirit.  Yet  didst  thou  long 

To  gaze  on  me :   thy  yearning  drew  me  down. 

Where  art  thou,  Faust  ?  whose  strong  voice  pierced 

to  me? 
Is't  thee  I  see  —  this  terror-stricken  worm  ? 

Faust.     I  fear  no  more  —  I  am  Faust  —  I  am 

thy  peer ! 
Spirit.     Thou  art  like  the  Spirit  which  thou 
comprehendest, 
Not  me! 

[Spirit  disappears. 
Faust.     Not  jthee !    I,  image  of  the  God-head ! 

\A  knock. 


I  FAUST  7 

Death  !    At  this  moment  this  poor  witless  wretch 
Disturbs  me,  teasing  me  from  the  full  \asion ! 

[Enter  Wagner  -with  a  lamp. 
Wagner.     Surely,   you   read   some   old    Greek 
tragedy : 
I  heard  the  declamation  —  and  a  preacher 
They  say  might  learn  from  a  comedian. 

Faust.     [Irritably.]     Yes,  when  the  preacher  — 
as  the  case  is  often, 
Is  in  himself  a  born  comedian. 

Wagner.     I've  studied  long  to  be  an  orator. 
F.AUST.      Studied !     What     use !     unless     heart 
speaks  to  heart? 
If  children's  monkey's  gaze  be  to  your  taste, 
Then  be  content !     'Tis  all  that  study  gives  you. 
Read,  read !    and  stand  a  tinkling  fool  at  last. 


8  FAUST  ACT 

Wagner.     Ah,  God!    but  art  is  long,  and  life 
is  short, 
And  then  to  die,  so  many  books  unscanned! 
Faust.       Is    parchment     thy   sole    fount      of 
inspiration  ? 
Is  this  the  draught  that  slakes  th'  eternal  thirst? 
Wagner.     And  yet   to  apprehend  the   mighty 

world ! 
Faust.     Those  few  who  apprehended  it  at  all 
And  dared  to  bare  their  breasts  unto  the  brand, 
Have  evermore  been  burned  or  crucified. 
And  now,  good  night ! 

Wagner.  Much  have  I  learnt  already; 

To  know  all  I  aspire. 

Faust.  Aspire  —  and  go ! 

\Exit  Wagner. 


I  FA  UST  9 

He  never  need  despair  who  clings  to  trash. 
There  goes  myself  — •  as  great  a  fool  am  I, 
And  when  I  flung  those  bitter  words  at  him 
'Twas  at  myself  I  railed.  It  seemed  indeed 
As  if  my  past  life  mocked  me  in  his  words ! 
Dust,  dust,  and  ashes ! 

[He  sinks  dejectedly  on  a  chair. 
Ah,  that  Spirit  splendid ! 
He  with  a  thunder  word  swept  me  away. 
I  am  no  god.     Deep  in  my  heart  I  feel  it, 
I  am  a  worm  beneath  the  wanderer's  feet. 
Grin  on,  thou  skull !    thy  brain  was  once  as  mine. 
[Gazing  around,  his  eye  is  caught  by  a  gleaming 
flask. 
Why  dost  thou  lure  me  so,  thou  gleaming  goblet, 
Drawing  me  like  a  magnet?     Seeing  thee 


lo  FAUST  ACT 

The  stings  of  pain  diminish,  struggle  ends. 

The  air  glows  now  like  moonlight  in  a  forest, 

I  see  a  dreaming  ocean  and  new  shores. 

Shall  I  unlock  the  one  door  left  to  me 

And,    draining    this    deep    draught    of    slumber 

juices, 
Venture  on  death,  although  I  sleep  for  ever  ? 
Come  down,  then,  from  thy  shelf,  thou  flask  of 

crystal. 
How  often  at  old  banquets  didst  thou  pass 
From  hand  to  hand,  gladding  the  solemn  guests ! 
Now  to  a  neighbour  never  shall  I  pass  thee. 
Here  is  the  deadly  juice:    I  chose,  prepared  it. 
Hail  to  the  morn  !     I  drink  my  final  cup. 

\He  sets  the  cup  to  Jiis  lips,  when  there  is  heard 
a  chime  of  Easter  Bells  and  a  Choral  Song. 


I  FAUST  II 

Christ  is  arisen  ! 
Hail  the  joyful  morn  ! 
The  tomb  He  hath  broken, 
Our  bonds  He  hath  shattered, 
Death  is  defeated. 

Faust.     {Setting    down    the    eup.]     I     cannot 
drink:    the  ancient  music  holds  me. 
And  the  remembered  bells  of  Easter  morn. 

Chorus 
Christ  is  ascended : 

Bliss  hath  invested  Him, 
Our  woe  He  hath  ended. 
F.4UST.     Once  on   my  childish   brow   the   Sab- 
bath stillness 
Fell  like  the  kiss  of  heaven :  mystical  bells 


12  FAUST  ACT 

And  prayer  dissolved  my  yearning  soul  in  bliss. 
Sound  on,  ye  hymns  of  heaven  !    ye  sacred  bells ! 
The    old    tear    starts !       Earth    has    her    child 
again. 

[/I  pause. 
But  I  shall  ne'er  regain  the  ancient  rapture, 
When  as  a  child  I  watched  the  sun  recede 
Firing  the  peaceful  vales  and  mountain  peaks, 
And  some  eternal  longing  came  on  me 
To  flee  away  and  up !    as  over  crag 
And  piney  headland  slow  the  eagle  soared, 
And  past  me  sailed  the  crane  to  other  shores. 
But  now  not  only  childhood  shattered  lies. 
But  manhood,  too,  is  sold  for  a  barren  dream. 
Ah !   now  those  fleeting  songs  I  would  recall 
Which  I  despised;   the  feast,  the  lips  of  women, 


I  fACST  13 

The  brief  yet  luring  hours  all  lost  to  me. 
Only  the  cup  is  left. 

\]rle  again  takes  the  cup  and  again  pauses. 
And  yet,  and  yet, 
One  power  I  ne'er  invoked  I  might  invoke. 
Seeking  the  light  I  called  not  upon  darkness. 
Spirit  of  Chaos,  now  to  thee  I  turn. 
The  choice  before  me  lies  of  Death  or  Hell, — 
Death  that  leads  on  to  sleep,  or  Hell  that  yields 
That  riot  cf  the  blood  my  soul  hath  spurned. 
I  cry  to  God:    the  vacant  Heavens  are  dumb; 
He  answers  not.     On  Evil  tlien  I  call. 
I  will  not  die;   I'll  risk  the  eternal  woe 
So  I  be  rapt  into  the  whirl  of  sense. 
Ye  elemental  spirits  four, 

Fire  and  Water,  Earth  and  Air, 


14  FAUST  ACT 

From  riven  skies,  from  Ocean's  floor, 
I   bid   ye   hither !     Beware  !     Beware ! 

\H.e  raises  the  sign  of  the  Hexagon. 
Salamander  !   by  thy  name 
I  call  thee  from  thy  haunt  of  flame, 
Fair  Undine,  whose  sea-worn  home 
Lies  beneath  the  circling  foam. 
Sylph  whose  feet  have  found  their  way 
Through  the  viewless  fields  of  day. 
And  thou  poor  gnome  who  evermore 
Art  tied  and  tethered  at  Earth's  core, 
I  here  command  ye !     Yield  unto  my  sight 
From  out  the  dusky  cohorts  of  the  night 
The  Spirit  of  the  Dark  who  dreads  the  Light. 

[-4  flame  leaps  in  the  hollow  of  the  cJiimncy, 
and  from  the   risen   vapour  that  follows 


I  FAUST  15 

the  flame  the  form  of  Mephistopheles 
gradually  emerges. 
Faust.     What  art  thou?     Speak! 
Mephistopheles.     A  part  of  that  fell  power 
Which  ever  seeking  ill,  yet  makes  for  good. 

Faust.     Some  riddle  doth  lurk  here !     Yield  up 

thy  name. 
Mephistopheles.     My  name  ?     I  am  the  spirit 
that  denies. 
And  wherefore  not  ?     For  all  created  things 
That    arc,    are    naught   or   should   be    turned    to 

naught. 
This  whirling  planet  issuing  from  the  void, 
Teeming  with  empty  life,  I  would  consign 
Unto  the  void  once  more.     There  where  I  ruled 
A  part  of  Primal  night  that  knew  no  dawn  — 


i6  FAUST  ACT 

Prince   of  the   darkness   that   brought    forth   the 

light ! 
Now,  all-conceiving,  all-consuming  night 
Hath  lost  her  ancient  place.     The  upstart  day 
Disputes  her  throne.     Yet  not  for  ever  so ! 
For  Davi^n  and  Day  have  but  their  place  in  Time, 
And  shall  as  surely  yield  that  place  again 
When  earth's  poor  spawn  have  spent  their  little 

hour 
And  timeless  Night  resumes  her. larger  sway. 
Meanwhile  for  lighter  sport  I  tread  the  earth, 
Tormenting  those  I  may  not  yet  destroy. 

Faust.     Strange   son   of   Chaos,   now   I   know 

thee  well. 
Mephistopheles.     Yet  when  all's  said  there's 
little  left  to  boast  of! 


1  FAUST  17 

This   poor   blind  mole  o'    the   world,   howe'er    I 

shake  it, 
With    flood   or   earthquake,    storm   and   fire    and 

plague, 
Hath  a  dull  way  of  settling  down  again 
Most  heart-breaking  to  one  who  loves  his  trade. 
And  even  mankind,  my  latest  perquisite, 
Proves  a  poor  plaything.     Though  I  kill  'em  off 
Like  flies  in  jelly,  myriads  at  a  stroke. 
They  breed  again  before  my  back  is  turned. 
Then  all's  to  do  once  more,  a  weary  toil ! 
Look  where  I  may  there's  naught  but  birth  and 

life 

From  Water,  Earth,  and  Air  for  ever  teeming; 

And  were  it  not  for  a  poor  modest  crib 

Lit  by  a  flick  of  flame  that  still  is  mine  — 
c 


l8  FAUST  ACT 

That  last  red  rod  in  pickle  down  below  — 
I'd  quit  the  business  straight.     But  there,  enough ! 
An  egotist  makes  but  a  sorry  devil, 
So  now  for  your  commands ! 

Faust.  Nay,  I  have  none; 

My  prayer  half-uttered  dies  upon  my  lips. 

Mephistopheles.     Good  Doctor,  not  so  fast, 
ere  night  shall  fall 
We'll  tread  a  merrier  measure,  you  and  I, 
For  see  you  here,  I  cast  aside  that  garb, 
Stitched  in  the  nether  world  for  working  hours, 
And  stand  revealed  a  gallant  gentleman  — 
A  part  the  devil's  very  apt  to  play ! 

\The  dusky  cloak  falls  from  him  and  lie  stands 
tinder  a  lightning  flame  in  his  dress  of  scarlet. 
Go  swiftly.  Doctor,  find  a  worthy  garb 


I  FA  usr  19 

To  match  this  gay  attire.     Then,  arm  in  arm 
We'll  sally  forth  from  out  this  mouldy  den 
And  look  on  life. 

Faust.  Nay,  that  were  all  in  vain ; 

No  outward  change  can  change  this  outworn  world 
Where  every  passing  hour  croaks  but  one  cry;  — 
"Abstain,  renounce,  refrain,  and  for  reward 
Take  the  dried  parchment  of  Life's  withering  law." 
Such  is  the  strain  that  echoes  in  men's  ears 
From  waking  dawn  to  phantom-haunted  night, 
Whose  every  dream  is  shattered  by  the  day. 
There  is  no  cure  but  Death.     I'll  tight  no  more ! 
Mephistopheles.     Vet    death,     too,     has    its 

drawbacks,  so  I've  heard' 
Faust.     Happy     the     warrior     whose     blood- 
stained   brows 


20  FAUST  ACT 

Death's  marble  fingers  crown.     Thrice  happy  he 
Who,  drunk  with  passion,  on  his  lover's  lips 
Prints  the  last  kiss  and  finds  death  waiting  there. 
Mephistopheles.       And  yet  I  know  a  Doctor 
hereabouts 
Who  grasped  the  cup  but  let  the  liquor  go. 
Faust.     You  spied  and  saw  me  fail. 
Mephistopheles.  Ah,  Doctor,  no ! 

Faust.     Where  all  is  known  'twere  vain  to  hide 

the  truth. 
Mephistopheles.     I  know  a  thing  or  two,  yet 

not  quite  all ! 
Faust.     Cursed    be    the    coward    hand    that 
held  me  back. 
And  cursed   those   winning  strains   of   childhood 
born, 


I  FAUST  21 

That  snared  my  soul  upon  the  edge  of  all ! 

A  curse  on  life,  honour,  and  wealth  and  fame, 

Ambition's  toils,  the  cheating  gleam  of  gold, 

And  pomp  and  power  — ■  the  empty  spoils  of  war, 

A  curse  on  all ;    aye,  even  the  best  of  all, 

The  vine's  ripe   juice   that   brings   the   trance  of 

love 
And  love's  brief  ecstasy  that  turns  to  hate. 
And  last  of  all  on  man,  that  patient  drudge 
Who  still  endures  what  Death  may  fitly  end. 
Mephistopheles.     Doctor,    let    me    prescribe ! 

For  such  a  case 
I  know  a  sovereign  cure !     You  wrong  yourself 
In  tearing  at  a  wound  my  arts  may  heal ! 
For  think  not  I  would  thrust  you  midst  the  herd 
Of  common  folk  whose  lot  you  rightly  spurn. 


22  FAUST  ACT 

No !     While  I'm  here  I  move  among  the  best, 
Naught  else  would  suit  my  quality.     Trust  to  me 
To  guide  you  through  life's  maze,  and  you  shall 

learn 
This  Earth  can  furnish  unimagined  joys 
Of  sense  unfettered  by  the  ilUberal  bonds 
The  haunting  spirit  forges  for  the  flesh. 
Now  and  henceforth  through  Time's  unmeasured 

span 
I'll  be  your  comrade,  servant,  and  your  slave. 
Shall  that  content  you? 

Faust.  What  is  thy  reward 

When  this  long  service  hath  run  out  its  course? 

Mephistopheles.     We'll     call    the    reckoning 
when  the  feast  is  done. 

Faust.     Nay,  I  would  know  the  cost! 


1  FAUST  23 

Mephistopheles.  Then  hearken,  Doctor. 

Till  Time's  unfathomed  waters  cease  to  flow 
I'll  stand  beside  thee  at  thy  beck  and  call. 
The  Earth  and  all  its  countless  joys  are  thine 
And  I  thy  willing  slave  to  serve  the  feast! 
Faust.     And  then? 

Mephistopheles.        Why,  then    I'll    ask    as 
much  of  thee. 
What's  here  is  thine,  the  all  hereafter  mine. 

Faust.     That    doth    not    fright    me  1     When 
this  shattered  world 
Thou   hast   cast   into   the   abyss,   what  else   may 

come 
To  fill  the  vacant  void  may  count  for  naught. 
Our  hooded  vision  vainly  seeks  to  pierce 
What  lies  beyond  the  ruin  of  this  earth,  — 


24  FA  UST  ACT 

Cradle  and  grave  of  every  joy  and  pain 
The  soul  hath  sense  to  capture.  —  'Tis  not  that 
Which  bids  my  spirit  halt. 

Mephistopheles.     Why    then,    good    Doctor. 
There's  nothing  left  but  just  to  close  the  bargain; 
That  done,  I'll  get  to  work,  and  with  swift  arts 
Will  yield  thee  such  a  harvest  of  sweet  sense 
As  none  have  dreamed  of  yet. 

Faust.  What  canst  thou  know 

Of  joys  the  uplifted  soul  would  seek  to  win  ? 
The  sordid  sweets  of  sated  appetite 
Whose  savour  dies,  untasted,  on  men's  lips, 
Like  fruit  that  rots  within  the  hand  that  grasps  it, 
Dead    leaves    that    scatter    ere    the    buds    have 

burst : 
I  know  them  all  1 


,  FAUST  25 

Mephistopheles.     Nay,  be  assured,  good  Doc- 
tor; 
I  would  not  traffic  in  such  damaged  wares. 
That  were  to  lose  all  custom!     From  this  hour 
\Mth  pleasures  new  for  newly-born  desire 
Your  cup  of  life  shall  bubble  to  the  brim. 

Faust.     If  in  thy  boasted  store  of  rich  delights 
Thou  hast  but  one  that  is  not  linked  with  pain, 
If  from   all  time  one   moment  thou  canst  pluck 
So  rich  in  beauty  that  my  soul  shall  cry 
Tarry  !    thou  art  so  fair  !  — 
Then    shalt    thou    claim    the    immortal    part    in 

me ! 
Then  let  Time's  beating  pulses  cease  to  stir: 
The  shattered  hands  upon  the  dial's  face 
FUng  down  into  the  dust:    their  use  is  gone, 


26  FAUST  ACT 

And  Hell  itself  shall  toll  the  final  hour. 
So  stands  my  challenge ! 

Mephistopheles.     Count  the  bargain  closed  I 
Yet  ponder  well !     The  Devil  hath  a  trick 
Of  not  forgetting! 

Faust.  Nor  shall  I  forget! 

Mephistopheles.     But    one    thing    more    re- 
mains:   we're  formal  folk! 
One  line  of  writing  just  to  seal  the  bond ! 

Faust.     My  soul  is  pledged,  yet  wouldst  thou 
still  exact 
The  feebler  witness  of  this  faltering  hand  I 

Mephistopheles.     An    idle    whim    of    mine 
which  sometimes  serves 
To  save  dispute  hereafter. 

Faust.  Have  thy  way! 


J  FAUST  27 

'    [Mephistopheles  produces  a  document. 
Mephistopheles.     And  for  our   present  pur- 
pose we  will  choose 
One  drop  of  blood.     See  here !     I  prick  the  vein. 
Faust.     Be  it  so.     I  am  content! 
Mephistopheles.  And  I  content! 

[Mephistopheles    punctures    Faust's    arm 
and  hands  him  the  pen.     Faust  signs  the 
parchment. 
Mephistopheles.     I  love  that  crimson  stream : 
what's  current   here 
Is  of  a  different  colour! 

p^usT.  Have  no  fear! 

Lest  I  should  break  the  bond !  ISIy  rightful  place 
Is  henceforth  l)y  thy  side.  To  plumb  the  depths 
Of  every  earthly  pleasure  born  of  sense, 


28  FAUST  ACT 

To  win  from  life  a  world  of  new  desire, 
And  quench  desire  in  unimagined  joys,  — 
Is  all  that's  left  to  one  who  vainly  sought 
To  win  the  secrets  of  the  Universe. 
Mephistopheles.     Fall  to,  then,  with  a  will; 

the  table's  spread 
With  every  dish  most  cunningly  devised  ! 
But  first  we'll  make  an  end  of  all  this  lumber 
Of  empty  knowledge  stored  for  empty  heads ! 
No  longer  wield  the  flail  on  barren  straw 
That    yields    no   wheat;     nor   seek    to    teach    to 

youth 
What  age   has  failed  to  learn.     There   are  fools 

enough 
Wearing  a  Doctor's  gown,  whose  addled  brains 
May  well  suffice  to  fill  the  addled  brains 


J  FAUST  «9 

Of  fools  who  seek  to  learn.     Your  freer  soul 

Deserves  a  richer  diet. 

[Knock  at  door. 

Some  one  knocks. 
One  of  your  faithful  students  waits  without ! 
Faust.     I    have   no   heart    to   see   him.      Bid 

him  go! 
Mephistopheles.     Nay,    he    hath    journeyed 
far;    'twere  scarcely  fair 
To  leave  his  famished  brain  without  a  meal ! 
Lend   me    your   hood   and   gown,    my   wit    may 

serve. 
Meanwhile  make  ready  for  our  wayfaring. 

Faust.     Across  the  world  1 

{Exit  Faust. 

Mephistopheles.     Across  the  worid  to  Hell! 


30  FAUST  ACT 

I  hold  him  fast  and  sure.     That  bolder  spirit 
That    drove    him    upwards,    onwards   past    those 

joys 
Man  may  inherit  here,  shall  prove  at  last 
The  rock  to  wreck  his  soul. 

\The  knocking  is  repeated. 
Come  in  !     Come  in  ! 
A  Student  enters. 
Student.     Great    Doctor,    I    have    journeyed 
from  afar 
To  set  mine  eyes  upon  the  face  of  one 
Whose  fame  spreads  through  the  world. 

Mephistopheles.  You  flatter  me. 

I'm  but  a  simple  man,  or  something  more, 
Or  haply  something  less.     It's  hard  to  tell. 
Student.     I'm  all  athirst  for  knowledge. 


1  FAUST  31 

Mephistopheles.  Happy  youth! 

You  couldn't  have  done  better  than  come  here. 
Student.      Yet,     to     confess     a     fault,     these 
haunts  of  learning 
Sometimes  oppress  me.     Something  in  the  air 
Falls  on  my  brain  like  lead. 

Mephistopheles.  Nay;    that  will  pass! 

The    new-born    child    turns    from    its    mother's 

breast, 
Then  turns  again  to  take  what  it  refused. 
The  paps  of  learning  do  not  lure  at  first, 
The  rapture  grows  in  feeding. 

Student.  Thank  you,  Doctor! 

I  would  in  all  be  led  l)y  thy  advice. 

Mephistopheles.     What  is  the  special  faculty 
you  seek  ? 


3^  FAUST  Act 

Student.     All    fields    of    knowledge    either    in 
Earth  or  Heaven, 
All  secrets  Science  wrings  from  Nature's  breast,  — 
"These  I  would  call  my  own ! 

Mephistopheles.  'Tis  fortunate 

You    have    made   no   larger   choice !     A   prudent 

lad! 
Yet  even  for  this  narrow  course  of  study 
Attention  will  be  needed. 

Student.  Body  and  soul 

And  all  my  life  I  freely  consecrate 
To  this  great  task !     Although  in  summer  time 
I  own  my  spirit  longs  for  summer  joys. 
Is  that  a  fault? 

Mephistopheles.     No  !    that  can  be  arranged. 
Yet  with  this  tendency,  which  think  you  not 


I  FAUST  33 

I  would  condemn  —  lliat  never  was  my  plan, — 
Perhaps  'twere  wiser  in  the  first,  at  least, 
To  take  some  special  proA-ince. 

Studext.  Once  I  thought 

To     choose    the    Law,    but     now,    I     know    not 

why, 
My  spirit  turns  from  it. 

Mephistopheles.  And  mine,  sweet  youth. 

I  own  I  have  no  liking  for  the  Law,  — 
A  rebel  prejudice  that  haunts  me  still. 

Student.     Your     wiser     words     confirm     me. 
If  I  may 
I'll  start  my  studies  with  Theology. 

Mephistopheles.     Ah  1    that's  my  special  sub- 
ject !   hold  to  that ! 
Its  laws  are  simple,  and  its  facts  are  sure. 


34  FAUST  ACT 

Unlike  those  merely  human  fields  of  thought 
Where  men  dispute,  and  rage  in  angry  strife, 
This    study    makes   for   peace  —  and   when    all's 

learned,  — 
Your  spiritual  belly  crammed  with  creeds,  — 
And  you  shall  come  to  teach  the  heavenly  law, 
See  that  you  spice  your  list  of  punishments 
That  wait  on  evil-doers !     Cite  them  all 
As  though  the  Devil  stood  beside  your  chair. 

\He  hisses  this  in  the  Student's  ear. 

Student.     Doctor,  you  frighten  me. 

Mephistopheles.  Why  so,  my  lad? 

There's  warrant  for  such  teaching. 

Student.  True;    there  is. 

Mephistopheles.      But  come,    a   three   years' 
course  may  well  suf&ce 


I  FAUST  35 

To  sift  the  lumber  of  the  centuries 
Men  call  Theology  —  and  after  that  ? 
Student.     I  thought  of  Medicine. 
Mephistopheles.  a  pretty  thought, 

Yet  deem  not  that  this  ancient  science  dwells 
In  mouldy  parchment.     There's  a  shorter  way 
To  reach  to  eminence.     For  true  disease, 
Death  is  your  sole  and  sovereign  remedy ! 
Leave  all  such  cases  to  those  meddling  fools 
Who  seek  to  hinder  Nature  in  her  task. 
But  there's  a. world  of  women's  maladies 
That  have  one  source,  and  only  need  one  cure. 
There   you    may   win    distinction.      Tend    them 
well ! 

In  consultation  always  feel  their  pulse; 

Look  long  into  their  eyes,  for  there  it  is 


36  •  FAUST  ACI 

The  symptoms  show  themselves.     And  now  and 

then 
It  may  be  needful  in  the  cause  of  science 
To  test  the  heart  beneath  a  loosened  bodice. 
Or  even  to  pass  an  arm  about  the  waist 
Just  to  discover  if  the  corset  strings 
Are  over-tightly  drawn.     These  simple  hints 
Should  serve  to  set  a  student  on  his  way. 
The  rest  is  easy  if  you  love  your  work. 

Student.     Oh,     thank     you,     Doctor;      never 
until  now 
Has  science  seemed  so  plain ;    I  almost  wish 
This  very  hour  my  studies  might  begin. 

Mephistopheles.     The     fruit     of    knowledge 
hangs  upon  the  tree 
And  only  needs  the  plucking. 


I  FAUST  37 

Student.  Ere  I  go 

Here  in  my  album  pray  you  write  one  word. 
Mephistopheles.     Most  willingly. 

[He   writes    and   hands    back    the  book,  from 
which  the  Student  reads: 
Student.      "Be   self-possessed   and   thou 
Shalt  own  the  world." 

[Exit  Student. 
Mephistopheles.    Young  hopeful  should  go  far, 
And  maybe  at  the  goal  we'll  meet  again. 

[Enter  Faust. 
Ah,  Doctor,  so  thou  art  ready!     All  the  world 
Lies  spread  beneath  our  feet. 

Faust.  Yet  in  that  world 

The  years  that  bow  me  down  must  keep  me  still 
An  exile  from  all  joy. 


38  FAUST  ACT 

Mephistopheles.     That's  swiftly  cured ! 
There  lies  a  cavern  in  the  cloven  earth 
Where  dwells  a  witch  served  by  an  apish  brood 
That  are  her  slaves  and  mine.     There,  as  she  sits 
Beside  a  cauldron  that  is  ever  seething, 
She  weaves  a  spell  that  yields  to  outworn  age 
The   prize   of  youth.     Straightway  we'll   journey 
there. 

[-4  roll  of  thunder. 
See,  as  I  cast  this  garment  round  about  thee 
We  are  speeding  on  our  way !     The  hills  divide 
As  down  the  vacant  highways  of  the  dark 
We  sink  in  sudden  flight.     Above  our  heads 
The  circling  eagle  dwarfed  to  a  dusky  star 
Soars  o'er  the  moonlit  world.     Dost  thou  not  feel 
The  rush  of  midnight  air  upon  thy  brows 


I  FAUST  39 

As  upward  from  the  deep  in  chorus  chanting 
]My  subject  spirits  signal  our  approach  ? 

Chorus 
Through  shaken  rocks  that  are  rent  and  riven, 

Across  the  fallow  fields  of  night, 
He  drives  his  steeds  as  a  flame  is  driven 

From  Deep  to  Deep  in  measureless  flight. 

Mephistopheles.     Time     cannot     count     the 
lightning  lapse  of  time 
Till  we  are  there  1     Hark  !   we  are  nearing  now. 

Chorus  of  Apes 
Beside  a  cauldron  ever  brewing, 

We  weave  a  garment  of  earth  and  air, 
The  withered  hide  of  age  renewing 

With  wondrous  tissues  shining  fair. 


40  FAUST  ACT 

[During  the  preceding  speech  of  Mephis- 
TOPHELES  and  Ihe  accompanying  Choruses 
the  Scene  fades  and  darkens,  with  only  a 
glint  of  light  upon  the  Two  Figures  2vho 
stand  at  the  side  of  the  stage.  At  first  the 
change  is  to  a  world  of  cloud  and  vapour, 
the  effect  at  the  back  so  contrived  by  the 
rushing  upward  course  of  the  clouds  as 
to  make  it  seem  as  though  Faust  and 
Mephistopheles  were  swiftly  descending. 
When  the  clouds  finally  disappear  and 
reveal  the  Witches'  Cavern,  they  are  seen 
standing  on  a  ledge  of  rock  slightly  raised 
from  the  stage. 
[The  Scene  should  he  designed  to  represent  a 
hollowed  cavern  at  the  base  of  a  deep,  torn 


I  FAUST  41 

fissure    in    the    earth.     The   Apish  Forms 
are  grouped  round  a  cauldron. 
Faust.     Why    hast    thou   brought   me    to   this 
filthy  den? 
The  antics  of  this  foul  mis-shapen  crew 
Oflfenci  my  spirit. 

Mephistopheles.     That's  strange  !  they  please 
me  well ! 
Look  where  they  frolic  with  that  glowing  ball 
That  sinks  and  rises  o'er  the  savoury  stew. 
What's  that,  my  winsome  puppet  ?    Tell  your  story. 
Ape 
The  world's  a  ball 
Shall  rise  and  fall, 
It  soars  like  a  star 
Afar  and  afar! 


42  FAUST  ACT 

Then  falls  and  falls 
As  its  master  calls. 
'Tis  fashioned  of  clay 
And  shall  last  a  day. 
Hark !  the  word  is  spoken, 
'Tis  shivered  and  broken. 
Away !    Away ! 

\He  flings  the  orb  to  the  ground,  and  it  breaks 
into  fragments   upon   which   the   Ape   and 
his  Comrades  dance  in  revelry. 
Mephistopheles.     Where  is  thy  mistress? 

Ape 
Up  and  away 
To  the  fields  of  day, 
Gathering  mice 
And  bats  and  hce. 


I  FA  UST  43 

With  simples  new 
To  feed  our  stew. 

Faust.     What  need  to  call  on  her? 

^Iephistopheles.  What  need  to  ask? 

'Tis  in  thy  service  she  is  summoned  here. 

Faust.     If    thou    wouldst    give    me    back    my 
vanished  youth 
This  hag's  foul  witchery  is  naught  to  thee. 
Canst  not  thy  larger  power  weave  the  spell? 

Mephistofheles.       That     power    is    naught 
which  uses  but  itself. 
The  mightier  spirit  that  conceives  all  ill, 
Still  needs  all  service  to  complete  its  task. 
Since  time  began  a  m\Tiad  whirring  looms 
In  varied  hues  of  texture,  ever  changing, 
Have  wrought  the  constant  pattern  of  man's  fate. 


44  FAUST  ACT 

Ape 
Hark,  hark,  and  hark ! 
On  the  winds  of  the  dark 
As  a  plummet  plumbs 
To  the  water's  floor 
She  comes,  she  comes, 
She  is  here  once  more  ! 
\The   cauldron   suddenly   boils  over;   a    great 
flame    leaps    up,    and    the    Witch    shoots 
down  as  though  through  a  chimney  in  the 
rock. 
\She  seizes  the  ladle  and  threatens  the  Apes, 
who  scatter  at  her  approach. 
Witch.     Ye    damned    crew,    so    this    is     how 
ye  work ! 
Letting  our  precious  potage  boil  and  spoil. 


I  FAUST  45 

[Turning   to    Faust    and   Mephistopheles. 
And  ye,  what  do  ye  here,  accursed  pair? 
Let  burning  fire  lick  all  your  flesh  away, 
Consuming  heart  and  brain. 

[She  Jills    the   ladle  from    the   cauldron   and 
flings  the  fire  towards  them. 
Mephistopheles.  Vile,  filthy  witch  ! 

Dost  thou  not  know  thy  master?     At  a  word 
I'll  scatter  thee  and  all  thy  antic  brood 
In  countless  fragments  to  the  hissing  flames. 
So  there  !    and  there  ! 

[He  seizes  the  ladle  and  smashes  the  goblets  and 
pitchers  that  are  piled  around  the  cauldron. 
Witch.     [Grovelling     at      his     feet.]        Good 
master,    pardon    me. 
In  truth  I  did  not  see  the  cloven  foot. 


46  FAUST  ACT 

Mephistopheles.       Umph !       Well,     of     late 
I've  chosen  a  neater  shoe 
That  better  suits  the  tripping  courtly  measure 
I  tread  up  there  on  Earth. 

Witch.  Most  noble  master, 

Would  I  had  leave  to  call  thee  by  thy  name. 

Mephistopheles.     Nay,  not  just  now.     I  have 
some  work  on  hand 
That  claims  another  title. 

Witch.  Tell  me  then 

How  I  can  serve  thee  best? 

Mephistopheles.  My  comrade  here 

Would  like  to  taste  that  ancient  brew  of  thine. 

Witch.     You'll  pay  me  for  it? 

Mephistopheles.  On  Walpurgis  night 

Ask  of  me  what  thou  wilt,  it  shall  be  thine. 


I  FAUST  47 

But  mark  you,  of  the  best  with  age  in  bottle  ! 
We  want  no  third-rate  vintage. 

Witch.     \Pointing.\  That  was  brewed 

A  thousand  years  ere  yonder  ape  was  born. 

\Whispering. 
Yet  have  a  care,  it  either  kills  or  cures, 
There's  no  half  measure. 

Mephistopheles.  I'll  look  after  that ! 

I  know  his  malady:    he  needs  the  drug. 
So  quickly  to  your  craft,  and  when  all's  done 
Fill  up  the  glittering  goblet  to  the  brim. 
Witch.     Come,  then,  make  ready. 

\The  Apes  gather  round  her  in  a  circle,  making 
their  backs  a  reading  desk  for  the  great  hook 
she  opens;   then  she  turns  to  F.A.UST. 
Faust.  This  poor  jugglery 


48  FAUST  ACT 

Was  made  for  fools.     I  loathe  its  apish  tricks 
And  would  no  more. 

Mephistopheles.     Nay,    patience !    patience, 
Doctor ! 
The  end  is  near,  and  while  she  weaves  her  spell 
Look  well  in  yonder  hollow  of  the  rock  — 
'Tis  said  that  once  ere  Eden's  lawns  had  flowered 
The  Mother  of  the  Mother  of  the  World 
Lay  hidden  there. 

\The  Witch  continues  her  incantations  and 
as  she  does  so  a  Vision  appears,  —  a 
Vision  of  a  Figure  nearly  nude  and 
draped  by  the  growth  of  leaves  about  her 
form,  in  which  she  seems  partly  incorporate. 
Faust.  Wonderful  form  divine. 

Pure  primal  mould  of  every  separate  charm 


I  FAUST  49 

Created  nature  owns.     Oh,  lend  me,  Love, 
The  swiftest  of  thy  wings  that  I  may  speed 
To  that  enchanted  bower  wherein  she  lies ! 
Can  this  be  mortal,  or  may  mortal  mate 
With  that  celestial  beauty? 

Mephistopheles.  Nay,  turn  thine  eyes, 

The  cup  is  ready,  brimming  to  the  full. 
What's  imaged  there  the  world  that  waits  thee  holds 
In  myriad  changing  shapes,  yet  ever  one. 
See,  now  'tis  gone. 

\The  Vision  fades. 
Faust.  Ah,  yield  it  back  again. 

Mephistopheles.        The  drink  will  yield  thee 
all,  for  all  lies  there. 

\He   holds   tlie  cup  to  Faust  as  the  Witch 
pronounces  the  spell. 

£ 


5©  faust  act 

Witch 

Here  the  shrunken  skin  of  age 
In  the  cauldron  sinks  and  dies, 

All  the  learning  of  the  sage, 
All  the  wisdom  of  the  wise, 
Count  for  naught  beside  what  lies 

Hidden  in  that  magic  brew. 

Drink !    and  thou  shalt  feel  the  fire 

Of  youth  renewed  with  pulses  new, 
Longings  that  shall  never  tire 

Freshly  born  of  fresh  desire,  — 
All  are  there  and  all  are  thine. 

Hidden  in  that  magic  wine. 

[Faust  sets  the  cup  to  his  lips  and  then  starts 
back  as  a  flame  leaps  from  it. 


I  FAUST  51 

Mephistopheles.      a     mate     of     mine     and 
wouldst    thou    shrink    at    fire? 
Drink    deep    and    have    no    fear. 

[Faust  drains  the  cup.     The  Scene  suddenly 
darkens.     There  is  a  crash  of  thunder,  and 
then  in  a   lightning  flash   Faust   appears 
richly  clad,  with  youtJiful  face  and  form. 
Witch.  'Tis  done  !     'Tis  done  ! 

[With  a  wild  shriek  she  leaps  away,  pointing 
towards  Faust,  7vho  stands  in  shining  light. 
Mephistopheles  with  a  red  glow  upon 
his  face,  and  the  Witch  surrounded  by 
her  Attendant  Apes,  circle  in  a  wild 
dance  as   the   Curtain  falls. 

Curtain 


ACT  II 


ACT  II 

Scene  I 
Scene.  —  An  open  square  in  a  medicpval  German 
city.  On  one  side  is  a  tavern  icith  fable  set 
beside  the  door,  round  which  a  group  of  Stu- 
dents are  seated,  and  with  them  one  or  two 
Soldiers  in  armour.  On  the  other  side  are 
the  steps  of  the  Cathedral. 

[The  Scene  opens  with  Students'  Song. 

Song 
Up,  nightingale,  and  wake  my  dear, 

Hi!   Bird  — Ho!   Bird! 
The  lattice  opens,  thy  love  is  near, 

Hi!   Bird  — Ho!   Bird! 

Nay,  who  is  that  who  clambers  down  ? 
55 


56  FAUST  ACT  II 

'Tis  the  veriest  knave  in  all  the  town, 
But  thy  kiss  hath  cost  him  a  broken  crown 
With  a  Hi!    Bird,  Ho! 

\A   roll  of  the  drum  is  heard  off  L. 

Brander.  Enough  of  thy  cracked  tuning ! 

Dost  not  hear  the  drum  which  summons  our 
comrades  ? 

1ST  Soldier.  Truly  'tis  time  to  join  our 
troop. 

Frosch.  Well,  here's  to  all  men  of  valour 
who  go  forth  to  war. 

Altmayer.  And  to  all  valorous  men  who 
sit  at  home  and  sing  of  victory. 

SiEBEL.  Nay,  in  war-time  your  student  counts 
for  little,  drink  as  deep  as  he  may.  I  can  boast 
it  that  I  have  as  pretty  a  way  with  women  as  any 


SCI  FAUST  57 

man  in  all  the  city,  yet  have  I  been  vilely  de- 
ceived. 

Braxder.  And  look  you  where  she  goes  with 
yon  bearded  warrior  by  her  side  ! 

Altmayer.  Alack !  'tis  true.  Would  I  had 
been  a  soldier:   it  should  have  fitted  me  well. 

Braxder.  Dost  hear  him?  Why,  old  butter- 
tub,  there  is  not  enough  steel  in  all  Augsburg  to 
make  a  case  for  thy  belly. 

Altmayer.  Yet  had  I  the  wit  to  fall  in  battle, 
'tis  like  I  should  win  a  maid's  kiss  at  the  last. 

SiEBEL.  Ay,  when  there  was  naught  left  of 
thee  but  a  blown  carcase  beneath  the  moon. 

Altmayer.  Truly  that  must  be  thought  of  I 
When  all's  said,  the  wine-cup  makes  the  safest 
kissing,  and  drink,  not  love,  is  your  wiser  beverage. 


5?  FAUST  ACT  II 

\A   Troop  of  Soldiers  enter,  Jolloived  by  a 
Crowd   of   Town   Folk.     The   Soldiers 
who  had  been  drinking  join  them,  and  all 
move  off  to  the  sound  of  the  drum. 
Frosch.     Is  Valentine  not  among  them  ? 
SiEBEL.     No,   he's  for  the   next    troop  —  and, 
look  you,  here  he  comes ! 

Altmayer.  Then  here's  a  flagon  for  him, 
and  for  all,  and  at  my  account !  We  shall  drink 
deep  to  serve  him. 

Brander.  [Looking  off.]  Have  a  care,  old 
waggle-tongue.  He  hath  his  sister  Margaret  with 
him,  who  loves  not  ribaldry. 

Altmayer.  Nay,  then  we'll  drink  deep  but 
dumb. 

[There  is  a  sort  of  hush  upon  the  revellers  as 


SCI  FAUST  59 

Valentine    and    Margaret    enter   from 

R.  above  the  revellers.     The  music  is  heard 

from  the  Church  and  Citizens  pass  behind 

them,  ascending  the  steps  of  the  Cathedral. 

Margaret.     Must  you  go  now  ? 

Valentine.  I  must,  dear  Margaret; 

That  beating  drum  forewarns  me. 

Margaret.  Then  good-bye ! 

There'll   be  no  hour   I   shall   not   think  of  thee, 
No  day  at  dawn  I  shall  not  pray  for  thee. 

Valentine.     And  I,  dear  sister,  shall  for  ever 
keep 
Thine  image  next  my  heart.     Once  as  I  trudged 
Across  our  snows  in  winter,  all  my  thought 
Sped  backward  to  a  little  lonely  flower 
That  decked  the  spring.     So  it  shall  be  again  ! 


6o  FAUST  ACT  II 

Beneath  War's  thunder  skies  where'er  I  go 
I'll  think  of  thee  the  whitest  flower  of  all. 

\T]ie  drum  draws  nearer. 
My  troop  draws  near. 

Margaret.  I  cannot  see  thee  go, 

But  there  within,  before  the  Virgin's  shrine, 
I'll  pray  that  Heaven  may  yield  thee  safe  once 

more. 
Good-bye ! 
Valentine.     Good-bye ! 

[The  music  within  swells  as  Marg.aret  enters 
the  door,  and  at  the  same  time  the  beating 
drum  draws  nearer.  Valentine  pauses 
on  the  steps  of  the  Cathedral,  looking  after 
her.  The  revellers  break  out  again  in 
laughter. 


SCI  FAUST  6 1 

Altmayer.  Come,  \'alentine,  there's  time  and 
place  for  just  one  draught  ! 

SiEBEL.     And  just  one  toast ! 

\'alentine.  Most  willingly !  Here's  to  you 
all! 

Altmayer.  And  to  thee,  good  Valentine;  and 
a  speedy  return  from  the  war  with  just  wounds 
enough  to  win  a  tear  from  thy  sweetheart. 

Frosch.  Ay,  name  her  to  us !  Thou  hast 
kept  her  hidden  till  now.     That  shall  be  our  toast. 

Valentine.  When  I  find  her  'twill  be  time 
enough  to  name  her.  Sweetheart  have  I  none. 
Such  sport  is  for  idle  dogs  who  lag  at  home.  A 
soldier's  sweetheart  is  his  sword. 

Altmay'er.  Yet  a  toast  there  must  be,  else 
there's  no  cause  for  drinking. 


62  FAUST  ACT  II 

Brander.  ]To  Valentine.]  Pray  you  take 
pity  on  him,  poor  soul,  for  he  would  fain  drink. 

Valentine.  Well,  then,  here's  to  my  sister 
Margaret;  and  he  who  has  the  worth  to  win  her 
shall  then  toast  the  purest  maid  in  our  city. 

\As  they  drink  the  Troop  comes  on  to  the 
stage,  and  Valentine  rises  to  join  them. 
Valentine.     Farewell,  comrades !     Have  a  care 
to  leave  just  one  bottle  for  my  return. 

Brander.  'Twill  surely  be  no  more  than  one, 
if  Old  Altmayer  lives  so  long ! 

[Amid  general  laughter  and  shouting  of  fare- 
well,  the  Troop   marches   off,   Valentine 
with  them,  to  the  sound  of  the  drum. 
[As  the  Soldiers  go  off  and  the  Crowd  dis- 
perses, Faust  and  Mephistopheles  have 


SC.  I  FA  UST  63 

entered  and  stand  at  the  foot  of  the  Cathedral 
steps. 
Faust.     There  goes  a  gallant  soldier  to  the  war ! 
Mephistopheles.     Ay,    to    be    spitted    on    a 
friendly  pike 
And  so  win  death  or  glory,  haply  both. 
In  truth,  good  Doctor,  'tis  most  fortunate 
That  our  first  upward  flight  should  land  us  here, 
For  in  this  little  life  is  mirrored  all. 
Those  weeping  maids  who  whisper  fond  farewells 
Shall,  laughing,  \ield  their  lips  unto  another 
Ere  the  day  dies.     So  here  in  brief  you  see 
Both  love  and  glor)',  Life's  twin  fading  dreams. 

[Pointing  to  Cathedral. 
And  here  are  those  who  pray,  then  quit  the  shrine 
To  sin  again  that  they  may  pray  again. 


64  FAUST  ACT  II 

Body  and  soul  still  chasing  one  another 
Like  kittens  who  would  seek  to  catch  their  tails. 
Faust.     [Pointing    to    revellers.]     And   there, 

what  life  is  there? 
Mephistopheles.        The  best  of  all. 
Such  wine-butts  are  your  true  philosophers, 
Who  neither  pray,  nor  dream,  nor  fight,  nor  love, 
But  pass  from  cup  to  cup  to  life's  last  goal. 

Faust.     Poor  sodden   fools !     Is  this  in   truth 

life's  goal  ? 
Mephistopheles.     Nay,   not   for   thee.     I   do 
but  show  thee  here 
How  mortals  fare  who  lack  the  Devil's  aid. 
Our  feast  is  better  ordered.     But  meanwhile 
We'll  board  these  roisterers.     Good  morrow,  sir ! 

\To  Frosch.] 


SCI  FAUST  65 

SiEBEL.       \To  Altmayer.]        Who  are   these 

gallants  ? 
Altmayer.     Nobly  born,  be  sure, 
For  so  their  garments  speak  them. 

Brander.  Nobly  born ! 

More  like  poor  mountebanks  who  ply  their  trade 
In  borrowed  plumes. 
Mephistopheles.     \To    Faust.]    There    are 
some  folk,  you'll  find, 
Who    never    know    the    Devil    when    they    see 
him. 
Faust.     Fair  greeting,  gentlemen! 
SiEBEL.  You  come  from  far? 

Mephistopheles.     Lately    from    Spain,    that 

land  of  wine  and  song. 
Altmayer.     Said  I  not  so? 

F 


66  FAUST  ACT  II 

Frosch.  I'll  board  them,  you  shall  see ! 

Didst  chance  to  meet  my  noble  cousin  there? 

Mephistopheles.     Ay,    the    Court    fool !    He 
had  the  same  pork  face, 
And  slobbered  at  the  lips  as  thou  dost  now. 

Altmayer.     a   shrewd   stroke   that!     He   had 
thee  there,  sweet  Frosch ! 
Wouldst  join  us  in  a  drink? 

Mephistopheles.  Your  pardon,  sir, 

I  only  drink  the  best. 

Brander.  That's  one  for  thee ! 

Our  friend  is  set  on  drinking:    if  naught  else. 
The  drippings  from  the  counter  will  content  him  ; 
So  that  it  burns  his  throat,  he  hath  no  care 
To  name  the  vintage. 

Mephistopheles.     Time  may  come,  perhaps, 


SCI  FAUST  67 

V/hen  he  shall  find  a  h'quor  to  his  hking  ; 
I  know  the  cellar  where  it  waits  for  him. 
Meanwhile,   if    so    you    please,  we'll    broach    a 

cask 
Of  something  worth  the  tasting. 

Altmayer.  Willingly ! 

Go,  call  the  landlord. 

Mephistopheles.  Nay,  sir,  let  him  be. 

I  own  a  richer  store  than  he  can  boast  of. 
Give  me  a  gimlet. 

Altmayer.  Yonder  one  there  lies 

Within  that  basket.     Look  you,  noble  sir, 
We  want  no  scanty  sample  just  to  taste, 
But  full  and  brimming  measure. 

Mephistopheles.     [Boring  hole  in  table.]     Give 
it  a  name. 


68  FA  UST  ACT  II 

Altmayer.    I'm  local  in  my  cups  and  patriotic  — 
Rhenish  for  me ! 

Frosch.  Have  you  so  many  kinds? 

Mephistopheles.     Call    what   you    will.     I'm 
here  to  serve  all  tastes. 

Brander.     This  is  some  juggler's  trick. 

Mephistopheles.  A  little  wax 

To  serve  as  stoppers.     Quick,  old  pot-belly, 
That  none  be  wasted.     Now,  good  sir,  your  choice. 

Brander.     Champagne,  if  you  can  yield  it. 

Mephistopheles.     [To    Faust.]     Mark    you 
that, 
Your  cultured  patriot  calls  an  alien  brand 
And  fills  his  Prussian  paunch  with  Gallic  wine. 

SiEBEL.     I  crave  for  something  luscious ! 

Mephistopheles.  Then  for  you 


SCI  FAUST  69 

We'll  broach  this  old  Tokay.     And  you,  good  sir? 
Student.     I'll   name   the   vintage   when   I   see 
it  flow. 
This  knave  doth  fool  us  all ! 

Mephistopheles.  Say  you  so? 
Then  draw  the  stoppers  forth  and  drink  your  fill. 
\They  hold  their  glasses  and  the  wine  flows. 
SiEBEL.     Most  wonderful! 
Altmayer,                           This  is  a  happy  day. 
Mephistopheles.     Yet  have  a  care  no  drop- 
pings from  your  glass 

[Altmayer  lets  his  glass  fall  and  the  wine 
turns  to  flame. 
Altmayer.    Help !    Help !    The  flames  of  Hell ! 
Mephistopheles.  No,  no! 

A  touch  of  purgatory  —  nothing  more. 


70  FAUST  ACT  II 

[SiEBEL  has  drawn  another  stopper  and  fire 

flies  in  his  face. 

SiEBEL.     He  uses  some  vile  magic.     Out  on  him  ! 

Brander.     'Tis  witchcraft !     Strike  him  down  ! 

We'll  none  of  it ! 
[They  draw  their  knives  on  Mephistopheles. 

Mephistopheles 
Snare  their  senses,  close  their  eyes, 
Bear  them  hence  to  Southern  skies. 

[They  draw  back  in  a  trance. 
Siebel.     What  land  is  this? 
Brander.  A  land  of  milk  and  honey. 

Altmayer.     With    luscious    purple    grapes    on 

every  bough. 
Brander.     [Seizing  Altmayer's   nose.]     Here 

hangs  a  glorious  bunch  that  needs  but  cutting ! 


SCI  FAUST  71 

\He   puts    his   knife   to   Altmayer's   nose. 
Frosch.     And  here  another! 
Student.  This  is  best  of  all ! 

Mephistopheles.     Now  see  them  change  again, 
while  'neath  this  cloak 
We  stand  invisible. 

End  their  dream  and  ope  their  eyes, 
Lead  them  back  from  Southern  skies! 

Frosch.  Why,  what  is  this? 

* 

Where  are  those  vines? 

Siebel.  In  truth  we've  been  bewitched. 

Brander.  [To  Altmayer.]  I  took  thy  nose 
to  be  a  purple  grape. 

Mephistopheles.  [Aside.]  No  wonder,  for 
the  vine  hath  painted  it! 

Altmayer.     And  so  I  deemed  was  thine. 


72  FAUSr  ACT    II 

SiEBEL.     \To  Frosch.]  And  thine. 

Frosch.     \To  Siebel.]  And  thine. 

Mephistopheles.     \Asidc.\     Poor   fools!     Be- 
gone !    the  Devil's  jest  is  ended. 
Siebel.     Whither  hath  he  fled? 
Altmayer.  Methought  I  saw  him  ride 

Over  yon  steeple  on  a  butt  of  wine. 
Brander.     Were  the  knave  here,  I'd  cleave  his 

head  in  twain  ! 
Mephistopheles.     \Aside.\     Go,  braggart,  ere 

I  spit  thee  on  a  skewer. 
Frosch.     Let's  go  within.     There's  something 
in  the  air 
That  freezes  all  my  marrow. 

Altmayer.  Ay,  within ! 

There's  hiding  in  the  cellar.     Drink's  the  cure ! 


sc.  I  FAUST  73 

For   witchcraft   drink's   your   sovereign   remedy. 
\They  go  into  the  house  like  men  dazed.     A 
laugh  from  Mephistopheles. 
Faust.     Let's  quit  the  place;    these  drunkards 
sicken  me. 

[Music  from  Church. 
Mephistopheles.     Nay,    hark !     the    mass   is 
ended.     Wait  awhile. 
Prayer's  a  provocative  and  ofttimes  sets 
The  senses  newly  itching. 

[They  begin  to  stream  out  of  Church. 
See  you  there 
That  buxom  housewife  on  her  husband's  arm  ? 
Last  night  she  kissed  the  butcher  'neath  the  elm 
That  shades  their  garden  patch.     Yon  'prentice 
youth 


74  FAUST  ACT  II 

With  sheeplike  eyes  that  ever  seek  the  ground, 
Can  boast  of  more  than  his  indentures  warrant. 
Ask  of  his  master's  daughter,  she  can  tell  thee ! 
And  that  pale  priest  who  but  an  hour  ago 
Confessed  a  maiden  who  will  ne'er  confess 
The  thing  she  learnt  of  him,  —  see  how  his  gaze 
Would  seem  to  mount  toward  Heaven  ! 

[Margaret  has  come  from  the  Church  and 

stands  at  the  head  of  the  steps  as  she  gives 

a  flower  to  a  child.     Faust's  gaze  has  been 

riveted  upon  her  during  the  Devil's  speech. 

Faust.  Enough,  enough ! 

\He  advances  towards  Margaret. 

Fair  lady,  let  me  see  you  to  your  door  ? 

Margaret.     I  am  no  lady,  sir,  nor  am  I  fair. 
And  have  no  need  of  escort  on  my  way. 


sc.  I  FAUST  75 

\She  passes  across  and  off. 

Faust.     By    Heaven,  how    beautiful !     In    all 

the  world 

Dwells    not    her   equal.     Fresh    and    sweet    and 

pure 
As  the  first  flower  of  spring  that  greets  the  snow, 
Yet  with  red  lips  that  ripen  for  a  kiss 
Those  downcast  eyelids  still  refuse  to  yield. 
Ah !  could  I  would  win  that  maid  ! 

Mephistopheles.  What  maid  is  that? 

Faust.     She  who  but  now  passed  by.     Look 
where  she  goes. 
Didst  thou  not  see  her  shrink  at  my  approach? 
Mephistopheles.     Oh,  that  young  thing!  She's 
lately  from  confession. 
I  stood  beside  her  whilst  the  greasy  priest 


76  FAUST  ACT  II 

Absolved  her  of  her  sins,  for  she  has  none. 

I  would  you  had  looked  higher:    these  fledgling 

buds 
Take  far  more  plucking  than  a  full-blown  rose. 
Faust.     There  is  no  higher,  nay,  nor  none  so 

high. 
Mephistopheles.     [Aside.]    The  scentless  per- 
fume of  pure  innocence 
Works  like  a  poison  in  the  air  I  breathe, 
Its  very  frailty  saps  all  my  powers. 
[To  Faust.]     I  could  have  set  the  fairest  at 
thy  feet, 
Disrobed  an  Empress  but  to  serve  thy  sport, 
Or  sacked  the  centuries  to  yield  thee  back 
Dead    Queens   whose    beauty   wrecked   an   elder 
world. 


SCI  FAUST  77 

Yet  with   this  feast  outspread   thou   needs   must 

choose 
A  wind-flower  from  the  hedgerow.     Think  again! 

Faust.     My  choice  lies  there;    naught  else   I 
care  to  win. 
Yield  to  my  arms  this  image  of  delight 
Or  count  our  bargain  ended. 

Mephistopheles.  Not  so  fast ! 

The  thing  needs  time,  that's  all !  —  and  strategy. 

Faust.     Time!    that's  a  mortal's  plea:    it  fits 
thee  not. 
It  needs  thy  will  —  no  more.     Be  swift  and  sure. 
Bear  me  some  token  that  shall  speak  of  her  — 
A  kerchief  from  her  breast  —  I  care  not  what ! 
Then  lead  me  where  she  dwells  — 

Mephistopheles.  Nay,  sir,  not  yet! 


78  FAUST  ACT  II 

The  day  is  still  a-dying.     When  the  moon 
Peeps   through   her    lattice  —  that's  love's  fitting 
hour, 
Faust.     Meanwhile  I  need  some  gift  to  bear 

to  her. 
Mephistopheles.     a  good  thought  that !    The 
purest  maiden's  soul 
Yields  to  the  treacherous  lure  of  glittering  stones. 
I  know  a  hidden  treasure  hereabouts, 
Left  by  a  miser  who  went  mad  and  died. 
We'll  pick  and  choose  from  out  his  buried  store. 
\As  he  speaks  a  Company  of  Priests  come 
from    the   Church,    the  foremost   bearing   a 
cross,  at  sight  of  which  Mephistopheles 
shrinks  and  cowers,  half  in  fear. 
There's  something  here  I  like  not.     Come  away ! 


SCENE    II 

Scene.  —  A  small,  neatly  kepi  chamber. 
Enter  Mephistopheles,  beckoning  Faust. 
Mephistopheles.     Doctor,      come      on,      but 

gently ;    follow  me  ! 
Faust.     {After  a  pause.]  Leave  me  alone! 

Depart,  I  beg  of  thee ! 
Mephistopheles.       [Peering    round.]      H'm ! 
'Tis  not  every  girl  keeps  things  so  neat. 

[Exit. 
Faust.     O   welcome   twilight,   soft  and  sweet, 
that  fills 
This    virgin    shrine !     What    peace     and    order 

breathe 

79 


8o  FAUST  ACT  II 

Around  me !     In  this  penury  what  plenty, 
And  in  this  cell  what  bliss ! 

[He  draws  aside  the  bed  curtain. 

How  am  I  thrilled ! 

Here    could    I    pass    long    hours.     Here    Nature 

shaped 
The  angel  blossom  from  the  holy  bud. 
Ah,    Faust,    what    dost    thou    here    with     heavy 

heart  ? 
I  who  in  lust's  mere  madness  hither  stole, 
Now  lie  o'er  whelmed  in  the  pure  trance  of  love. 
Mephistopheles.     [Returning.]     Quick !    She 

is  coming ! 
Faust.     I  return  no  more ! 
Mephistopheles.       Here    is    a    casket    not 
unserviceable ; 


sc.  II  FAUST  8i 

It  came  from  —  somewhere  else  —  quick,  place  it 

here ! 
The  gewgaws  stored  within  will  turn  her  head. 
Faust.     Ah,  but  I  know  not  —  Shall  I? 
Mephistopheles.  Ask  you  that? 

Perhaps  you'd  keep  the  treasure  to  yourself. 
I  trust  you  are  not  growing  avaricious; 
If  so,  I  beg  you  spare  me  further  trouble; 
I  rub  my  hands  in  tender  expectation. 

\I'laces  casket  in  press. 
Now,   quick!    away!     You'll    have    her    at    your 

pleasure ; 
And  there  you  stand  as  in  the  lecture-hall  — 
You  with  a  sweet  young  girl  within  your  grasp,  — 
As  grim  as  Physics  and  jSIetaphysics !     Come  ! 

[Exeunt  Faust  and  Mephistopheles. 


82  FAUST  ACT  II 

Enter  Margaret  iinth  lamp. 

Margaret.     How  close,  how  sultry  here ! 

[Opens  window. 
And  yet  without 
It  is  not  warm. 

[Begins  to  braid  her  hair. 
I  wonder  who  he  was, 
That  gentleman  I  saw  to-day.     He  seemed 
Gallant  and  of  a  noble  family. 
Besides,  he   would   not   else    have    been   so   for- 
ward. 
I  tremble  strangely,  I  am  silly,  timid  — 
Ah !     but     I     wish     my     mother    would     come 
home ! 

[She  sings  as  she  undresses  herself. 


FA  UST  83 

Song 
A  king  there  lived  in  Thule 

Was  faithful  till  the  grave, 
To  whom  his  mistress,  dying, 

A  golden  goblet  gave. 

Before  all  things  he  prized  it, 

He  drained  it  at  every  bout, 
The  tears  his  eyes  o'erflowing 

Whene'er  he  drank  thereout. 

And  when  he  came  to  dying, 

His  towns  he  reckoned  up. 
All  to  his  heir  he  left  them  — 

But  not  the  golden  cup! 

He  sat  at  the  royal  banquet 

With  his  knights  of  high  degree, 


84  FAUST  ACT  II 

In  the  proud  hall  of  his  fathers, 
In  his  castle  by  the  sea. 

There  stood  the  old  carousers ! 

As  he  drank  life's  parting  glow, 
He  hurled  the  hallowed  goblet 

Into  the  surf  below. 

He  watched  it  filling  and  sinking; 

Deep  into  the  sea  it  sank; 
His  eyelids  closed,  and  never 

Again  a  draught  he  drank. 

\She  opens  the  press  and  perceives  the  casket. 
How  comes  this  lovely  casket  here,  I  wonder! 
I    am    quite    sure    I    locked    the    press.       How 

strange  ! 
What  can  there  be  inside  it?     And  a  key 


sc.  II  FAUST  85 

Hangs  by  a  ribbon  !     I  should  love  to  open  it ! 

\She  unlocks  casket. 
Ah  !    what  is  this  ?     Was  anything  ever  like  it  ? 
Heavens !    never  in  all  my  days  have  I  seen  the 

like! 
Why,  ornaments  and  trinkets  such  as  these 
A  noble  lady  might  wear  on  holidays. 
I  wonder  how  this  chain  would  suit  my  neck ! 

[SJie  steps  before  the  mirror. 
Oh !    were   those  earrings   mine !     At   once    they 

give  one 
A  different  air.     Youth,  beauty  are  well  enough, 
But  who  cares?     People  praise  one  half  in  pity  — 
But  all  depends  on  gold !     Alas !  we  poor  ones. 


SCENE    III 

Scene.  —  Garden  of  Margaret's  house. 

[Martha  enters. 
Martha.  [Calling.]  Margaret!  Alack!  'tis 
a  hard  fate  to  have  lost  a  husband!  Yet  that 
might  be  borne;  but  to  have  no  certainty  of 
widowhood  —  why,  'tis  enough  to  break  the  heart 
of  any  woman !  No  man  hath  a  right  to  die 
unless  he  send  home  word  he  is  decently  buried. 
How  else  should  his  widow  grieve  for  him  in 
due  fashion,  or  put  away  her  weeds  at  the  fit- 
ting time  ?  Truth,  'tis  a  hard  world  ! 
86 


sc.  Ill  FAUST  87 

Enter  Margaret,  agitated. 
Ah  !    thou  art  there  ! 

Margaret.  Oh,  Dame  Martha!  Dear 
Dame  Martha ! 

Martha.     Why,  what  ails  thee,  child? 

Margaret.  This  morning,  as  I  woke  I  found 
within  my  press  this  second  casket  Uke  unto  the 
first,  yet  stored  with  richer  gems.  I  know  not 
what  to  do ! 

Martha.  Then  I'll  tell  thee.  Say  nothing 
to  thy  mother.  She  would  but  give  them  to  the 
priest,  as  she  did  the  last. 

Margaret.     Look,  how  beautiful  they  are! 

Martha.     Oh,  you're  a  lucky  girl! 

Margaret.  And  yet  I  dare  not  wear  them 
in  the  street. 


88  FA  UST  ACT  II 

Martha.  Why,  then  we'll  hide  them,  and 
now  and  then  you  shall  put  them  on  before 
the  mirror.  For  the  first  let  that  content  you. 
As  time  goes  we'll  choose  some  holiday  when  you 
may  wear,  perhaps,  a  chain  or  ring  —  then  some- 
thing more.  Your  mother  will  never  know,  or 
if  she  should,  we'll  forge  some  pretty  tale  of  how 
you  came  by  them. 

Margaret.  Who  could  have  brought  them? 
I  fear,  yet  know  not  why,  that  I  do  wrong  to  keep 
them. 

Martha.     Tut,  tut,  child!  \A  knock. 

Margaret.     Is  that  my  mother,  think  you? 
[Martha  peeps  through  a  little  grille  in  the  gate. 

Martha.  No,  'tis  some  strange  gentleman. 

Pray  you  walk  in. 


sc.  Ill  FAUST  89 

Mephistopheles  enters. 
Mephistopheles.     Forgive     me,     ladies,     but 
I  sought  for  Dame  Martha  Schwartlein ! 

Martha.  I  am  she,  sir.  May  I  enquire 
your  errand? 

Mephistopheles.  [Aside  to  Martha.]  Nay, 
that  can  wait.  I  see  you  entertain  a  lady  of 
quality.     Another  time  shall  serve. 

Martha.  Hear  you  that,  Margaret?  He 
takes  thee  for  a  lady! 

:S1argaret.  Nay,  sir,  I  am  only  a  poor  maid. 
These  jewels  have  deceived  thee.  They  are  not 
mine. 

Mephistopheles.  No,  I  took  no  thought  of 
the  jewels.  It  was  rather  the  look,  the  manner, 
the  air,  that  struck  me. 


go  FAUST  ACT  II 

Martha.  And  now,  sir,  your  business,  if  I 
may? 

Mephistopheles.  I  would  I  had  a  cheerier 
note  to  sound.  Your  husband's  dead  and  sends 
you  loving  greeting. 

Martha.  Dead !  O  dear,  true  heart ! 
My  husband  dead !  Then  I  must  needs  die 
too! 

Margaret.     Courage,  dear  Martha! 

Mephistopheles.  I  feared  the  shock.  A 
very  pitiful  case ! 

Margaret.  Indeed  'tis  terrible !  What  use 
is  love  when  death  can  shatter  all !  I  would 
choose  to  die  unwed. 

Mephistopheles.  Yet  joy  follows  swiftly 
on  the  heels  of  woe.     That's  life ! 


sc.  Ill  FAUST  91 

Martha.  Tell  me,  I  pray  you,  how  he  met 
his  end? 

Mephistopheles.  Very  prettily,  Madame. 
He  lies  in  Padua  beside  St.  Antony.  A  very 
cool  and  comfortable  grave  in  consecrated  ground. 
A  temperate  home  for  one  who  loved  his  glass! 

Martha.  Were  there  no  last  words  ?  —  no 
message  for  his  fond  and  loving  wife? 

Mephistopheles.  He  did  command  thee  to 
buy  three  hundred  masses  to  save  his  soul. 

Martha.  And  sent  the  wherewithal?  Good, 
generous  lieart !     A  very  worthy  man  ! 

Mephistopheles.  No,  Madame,  no !  He 
must  have  clean  forgot  it. 

Martha.  What,  not  a  trinket  even?  Was 
there  no  little  hoarded  fund  to  leave  to  his  wife? 


92  FAUST  ACT  11 

Mephistopheles.  True  penitence  was  all 
he  died  possessed  of.  His  cash  he  had  expended 
on  himself.     A  very  worthy  man ! 

Martha.     Worthy,  forsooth ! 

Margaret.  Day  and  night  I'll  pray  for  his 
soul,  dear  Martha! 

Mephistopheles.  So  pitiful  a  lady  should 
well  deserve  a  husband  of  her  own. 

Margaret.     I  dream  not  yet  of  that,  sir. 

Mephistopheles.  Well,  then,  let's  say  some 
gallant  to  love  and  cherish.  There's  nothing 
makes  life  sweeter. 

Margaret.     'Tis  not  our  custom  here. 

Mephistopheles.  And  yet  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens so,  I'm  told ! 

Martha.     Pray  you,  sir,  and  at  the  last? 


sc.  in  FAUST  93 

Mepkestopheles.  Ay,  he  much  desired 
that  all  his  sins  against  his  wife  might  be 
forgiven. 

Martha.  Poor  soul,  he  was  forgiven  long 
ago! 

Mephistopheles.  And  yet,  he  added,  "She 
was  the  more  to  blame." 

Martha.  Oh,  what  a  liar!  On  his  death- 
bed too ! 

Mephistopheles.  Maybe  his  mind  was 
wandering  at  the  close.  "I  had  no  home,"  he 
said,  ''no  peace,  no  quiet."  Those  were  his  very 
words.     'Twas  sad  to  hear  him. 

M.artha.  And  I  who  slaved  so  hard  to  make 
him  happy ! 

Mephistopheles.     Ah !     he    didn't    speak    of 


94  FAUST  ACT  II 

that.  It  seems  that  after  he  left  his  home,  he 
made  a  bit  of  money  by  fair  means  or  foul. 

Martha.  We  will  not  judge  too  strictly  of 
the  means.  Where  think  you  he  hath  hidden 
it? 

Mephistopheles.  'Twere  hard  to  tell.  He 
told  me  that  in  Naples,  where  he  was  friendless, 
a  fair  young  maid  had  taken  pity  on  his  hard 
case.  They're  sometimes  costly,  those  fair 
young  pitiful  maids. 

Martha.  The  villain !  Oh,  the  villain ! 
He  was  ever  a  shameful  man !  Wine  and  dice 
and you  understand  me,  sir? 

Mephistopheles.  Perfectly,  Madame.  Mourr'. 
him  for  a  year,  and  meanwhile  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out to  find  another. 


sc.  Ill  FAUST  95 

Martha.  Oh,  I  couldn't,  sir!  I  could 
never  love  again ! 

Mephistopheles.  a  hopeless  case,  eh?  A 
pity  !     Otherwise  I  should  be  almost  tempted 

Martha.     Oh,  sir,  you're  not  in  earnest ! 

{Approaches  him. 

Mephistopheles.  Umph !  I'd  best  make 
ofif,  or,  who  knows,  she  might  take  the  Devil  at 
his  word!  [Turning  to  Margaret.]  What's 
in  your  thought,  fair  lady? 

Margaret.     I  know  not,  sir. 

Mephistopheles.  Sweet  innocent!  Ladies, 
farewell ! 

Martha.  One  moment,  sir!  Perhaps  'twere 
wiser,  in  view  of  what  you've  said,  tliat  this 
death    should   be   duly   attested. 


96  FA  UST  ACT  n 

Mephistopheles.  I  had  thought  of  that. 
A  noble  friend  of  mine  who  travels  with  me,  can 
add  his  deposition.     I'll  bring  him  here. 

Martha.     Oh,  do  sir,  pray! 

Mephistopheles.  A  very  gallant  youth, 
and  noble  too.  \To  Margaret.]  All  ladies 
love  him ! 

Margaret.  I  should  not  know  how  to 
greet  so  great  a  lord ! 

Mephistopheles.  There  is  no  king  thou 
art  not  fit  to  greet. 

[Door  opens  at  a  gesture  from  Mephistoph- 
eles, and  Faust  appears. 

Martha.  Here  in  this  garden  this  evening 
we'll  wait  you  here. 


SCENE    IV 

Scene.  —  A  garden. 

Enter  Faust  and  Margaret. 

Margaret.     Ah,    sir,    but    I    know    you    are 

only   trifling   with    me  I     You    put   up    with    me, 

as  travellers  do,  out  of  good  nature.     How  can 

I  hope  to  entertain  you  who  have  seen  the  great 

world  ? 

F.A.UST.     But  a  glance,  but  a  word  from  you, 

is  sweeter  to  me  than  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world. 

[He  kisses  her  hand. 

Margaret.     How     can     you     bring     yourself 

to  kiss  a  hand  like   mine,  so  coarse   and  hard? 
H  97 


98  FAUST  ACT  II 

But   then    I   am   obliged   to well,   mother   is 

really  too  close. 

\Exeunt. 
Enter  Martha  and  Mephistopheles. 

Martha.  So  you,  sir,  are  always  travelling 
about  hither  and  thither? 

Mephistopheles.  Alas !  business  and 
pleasure !  And  many  a  place  one  regrets  to 
leave,  yet  one  cannot  stay. 

Martha.  In  the  wild  years  of  youth  of  course 
to  move  about  is  well  enough;  but  the  evil  day 
must  come,  and  then  to  sneak  into  one's  grave 
a  solitary  old  bachelor  —  that  cannot  be  right  for 
any  one. 

Mephistopheles.  I  shudder  at  the  mere 
prospect. 


sc.  IV  FAUST  99 

Martha.  Then  think  better  of  it,  sir, 
while  there  is  time. 

Mephistopheles.     I  am  beginning  to  already. 

\Exeunt. 
Re-enter  Faust  and  Margaret. 

Margaret.  Ah  yes !  Out  of  sight,  out  of 
mind !  It  is  easy  for  you  to  be  polite ;  and  you 
have  many  friends  more  sensible  than  I  am. 

Faust.  People  one  calls  sensible  are  more 
often  only  mean  and  narrow-minded  —  but  you  ! 

Margaret.  Will  you  think  of  me,  then,  just 
for  one  brief  moment  ?  Ah !  I  shall  have  time 
enough  to  think  of  you ! 

Faust.     You  are  alone  a  great  deal? 

Margaret.  Yes;  our  household  is  small, 
but  one  must  look  after  it.     We  keep  no  maid; 


loo  FAUST  ACT  II 

everything  falls  to  me.  I  must  cook,  knit,  sweep 
and  run  here  and  there  —  and  mother  is  so  par- 
ticular. Not  that  there  is  such  great  need  to 
stint.  However,  just  now  my  days  are  passably 
quiet.  My  brother  is  a  soldier.  I  had  a  little  sister, 
but  she  is  dead.  I  loved  her  so  much. 
Faust.  If  she  was  like  you,  an  angel ! 
Margaret.  My  mother  lay  so  ill,  she  could 
not  suckle  the  poor  litde  mite;  so  I  brought  it  up 
with  milk  and  water.  It  thus  became  mine;  on 
my  arm  and  on  my  bosom  it  smiled  and  sprawled 
and  grew. 

Faust.     What  a  pure  joy  for  thee! 
Margaret.  Ah  yes!    indeed. 

Yet  many  an  anxious  time.     Beside  my  bed 
Its  cradle  stood;    and  if  it  merely  stirred 


sc.  IV  FAUST  io» 

I  was  awake  to  soothe  it  ere  it  cried! 

And     then     for     many    an     hour,    night     after 

night 
I'd  pace  the  room,  warming  it  next  my  breast 
Till  sleep  should  come  again. 

Faust.  O^'  g^"^^^  heart! 

Hast  thou  forgiven  me  yet? 

Margaret.  Forgiven  thee? 

Faust.     Ay,    for    those    downcast    eyelids    as 
I  came 
Told  me  thou  hadst  not  forgotten. 

Margaret.  Did  they  so? 

Why  then,  sir,  it  was  true! 

p^usT.  I  did  ^^^^  wrong 

To  stay  thee  on  the  threshold  of  the  Church; 
Yet  'twas  thy  beauty  made  me  over-bold. 


I02  FAUST  ACT  II 

Margaret.     I'll  own  it  hurt  me,  at  the  first, 
to  think 
I  might  have  given  thee  warrant. 

Faust.  Nay,  'twas  I 

Who  dared  too  much ! 

Margaret.  And  yet,  I  know  not  why, 

I  could  not  be  as  angry  as  I  would ! 
Something  there  was  within  me  still  would  plead 
For  thee  against  myself;    till  I  felt  sore 
I  was  not  sore  with  thee. 

Faust.  Thou  hast  forgiven  me ! 

\They  go  up  and  off,  hand  in  hand,  as 

Re-enter  IMartha  and  Mephistopheles. 
Martha.     Ah !    it   is   not   so   easy  to  convert 
an  old  bachelor  —  but  I  should  not  call  you  old ! 


sc.  IV  FAUST  103 

Mephistopheles.  I  am  getting  on,  you  know; 
but  it  only  needs  some  one  like  you  to  teach  me 
better. 

Martha.  But  tell  me,  sir,  have  you  never 
felt  an  incHnation  for  any  one? 

Mephistopheles.  Well,  I  am  very  difficult 
to  please.  I  am  more  attracted  by  the  soul  than 
the  body. 

Martha.  Of  course,  good  looks  are  not 
everything. 

Mephistopheles.  But  I  am  rather  partial 
to  the  plump. 

IVIartha.  And  your  heart  has  never  been 
really  touched? 

Mephistopheles.  Not  yet;  and  yet  you 
would    hardly    beUeve    the    variety    of    women    I 


104  FAUST  ACT  II 

have  come  across  here  — •  and  there.  Charming, 
I  assure  you :  I  have  always  been  at  home  to  them. 
I  vi^onder  if  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  be  constant 
to  one? 

\IIe  puts  his  arm  round  her. 

Martha.     It  is  growing  dark. 

Mephistopheles.     Yes,  we  must  be  going. 

Martha.  I  would  ask  you  to  stay  here  longer, 
but  you  have  no  notion  what  a  place  this  is  for 
scandal. 

Mephistopheles.  It  can't  be  worse  than  the 
place  I  come  from. 

Martha.     Is  that  very  far  away,  sir? 

Mephistopheles.  A  good  distance,  but  they 
make  the  journey  there  as  comfortable  as  possible. 

Martha.     I  have  to  be  most  careful  here,  I 


sc.  IV  FAUST  105 

assure  you.     If  I  were  to  be  seen  alone  with  you  it 
would  be  news  everywhere  in  the  morning. 

Mephistopheles.     Surely  they  wouldn't  mind 

—  if  they  knew  who  I  was ! 

Martha.  Yes ;  but  you  see  they  don't.  They 
would  suspect  you. 

Mephistopheles.  How  extraordinary!  I 
would  not  compromise  you  for  the  world. 

Martha.  And  besides,  I  would  not  trust  my- 
self with  you  for  long. 

Mephistopheles.  I  assure  you  you  need  have 
no  fear. 

Martha.  And  our  love-birds  —  where  are 
they? 

Mephistopheles.    Flown  up  the  garden  path 

—  naughty  butterflies ! 


io6  FAUST  ACT  II 

Martha.     He  seems  fond  of  her. 
Mephistopheles.     Of  course,  and  she  of  him. 
Ah,  dear  lady,  it  is  the  way  of  all  flesh  ! 

[Mephistopheles    and    Martha    pass    out 
by   the    upper   path   as    ISIargaret   cojnes 
lightly  down  from  the  gate. 
Margaret.     Now  ere  he  comes  — 
[She  plucks  a  star  flower  as  Faust  follows  her. 
Faust.     [Aside.]  And  would'st 

thou  hide  again? 
Nay,  but  I  have  thee  now ! 

Margaret.  I'm  half  afraid 

To  put  thee  to  the  test ;   yet  so  I  will ! 

[She  begins  to  pull  the  leaves. 
He  loves  me  —  loves  me  not !  .  .  . 
Faust.  What's  in  thy  thought? 


sc.  IV  FAUST  107 

To   bind  a  nosegay  ere   the  sun   be   down? 

Margaret.     No  !     'Tis    a    foolish    sport    that 
children  love ! 

Faust.     Teach  me  that  sport. 
Margaret.     Thou  would'st  but  laugh  at  me. 

\Shc  moves  away. 
He  loves  me  not !  —  he  loves  me  !  .  .  . 

Faust.  Angel  soul 

Thou    need'st    not    slay    a    flower    to    tell    thee 
that. 
Margaret.       Nay,    wait !      there's    more     to 
come.     He  loves  me  not !  — 
And  now  the  last !  —  He  loves  me  ! 

[She  drops  the  last  petal  to  the  ground  as  he 
takes  her  in  his  arms. 
Faust.  Ay,  he  loves  thee ! 


io8  FAUST  ACT  II 

\She  sinks  on  his  breast  as  he  kisses  her. 
Lord  of  the  world,  for  so  in  truth  I  am 
In  owning  thee :   there  is  naught  else  to  win. 

[Mephistopheles  has  peeped  in  at  the  garden 
gate  during  the  last  speech. 
Mephistopheles.     Lord  of  the  world,  I   fear 
'tis  time  to  go! 


SCENE  V 

Scene.  —  An  interval,  during  which  the  orchestra 
plays  a  stormy  melody,  gradually  subsiding  and 
ending  in  a  peaceful  strain  reminiscent  of  the 
Chorus  of  Easter  Angels  which  in  Act  I.  pre- 
vented Favst  from  taking  his  life.  -The  Curtain 
then  rises  on  a  desolate  scene  of  strewn  boulders, 
black  pines,  and  a  lurid  sun  setting. 

[Faust  is  discovered  lying  prone  on  the  earth: 
slowly  he  raises  himself. 
Faust.     Spirit   Sublime!    thou   hast  given   me 
what  I  asked. 
Hither  have  I  retired  to  Nature's  breast 

To  ease  me  of  this  fever.     Here  to  lose 
109 


no  FAUST  act  ii 

'Mid  air  and  water  and  the  silent  wood 
My  wild  unrest.     Whatever  stirs  the  bush 
Or  wings  the  air  or  troubles  the  dark  pool, 
With  these  am  I  acquainted.     Thou  hast  given 
No  cold  amazed  knowledge  of  thyself, 
But  hast  revealed  thy  countenance  in  fire. 
Alas !  yet  nothing  perfect  comes  to  man ! 
Thou  hast  assigned  me  as  a  comrade  one 
Who  cancels  with  a  sneer  thy  loving-kindness 
And  ever  fans  within  my  heart  a  flame 
Unwearied  for  one  fair,  delicious  form. 
I  fly  from  her,  but  ever  would  return. 
Enter  Mephistopheles. 
Mephistopheles.     Have  you  not  led  this  life 
now  long  enough  ? 
The  wilderness  awhile,  but  not  for  ever. 


sc.  V  FAUST  III 

Faust.     Find  other  work:    to  plague  me  thou 

returnest. 
Mephistopheles.     Thou    sitt'st    here    like    an 
owl :   or  like  a  toad 
From  sodden  moss  thy  nourishment  deriving. 
Faust.     I  find  a  pleasure  in  the  wilderness. 
Mephistopheles.     Enough   of   this!     Yonder, 
alone,  she  sits; 
Her  thoughts  and  yearnings  all  go  out  to  thee, 
And  miserably  long  the  hours  delay. 
She  haunts  her  window,  pacing  to  and  fro, 
Watching  the  clouds  roll  off  the  city  wall. 
Now  she  is  lively,  but  more  often  sad  — 
Sad,  sad  and  mad  for  thee. 

Faust.  Serpent,  be  still ! 

Mephistopheles.     Ah !    do  I  trap  thee  now  ? 


112  FAUST  ACT  II 

Faust.  Bring  not  again 

Desire  of  that  white  bosom  to  my  mind. 
I  envy  even  the  body  of  the  Lord 
When  touched  by  her  sweet  lips. 

Mephistopheles.  Back  to  her  then ! 

Faust.     No  !    no !    I  will  no  more  assail  her 
peace ; 
She  shall  return  to  her  old  simple  life, 
Take  up  again  the  tranquil  tasks  of  home. 

Mephistopheles.     Fool !     She  shall  ne'er  re- 
cover that  old  peace; 
She  cannot  now  return  to  simple  tasks. 

Faust.     Cannot  ? 

Mephistopheles.     She   hath  seen  thee. 

Faust.  Am  I  so  vile 

That  sight  of  me  hath  shattered  all  her  peace? 


sc.  V  FAUST  113 

Mephistopheles.     Thou  art   her  only  peace: 
return  to  her; 
Never  can  she  be  glad  but  on  thy  breast. 

Faust.     All  this  may  be;    but   I'll  return  no 
more. 
If  I  have  troubled  so  her  serene  days, 
I  trouble  them  no  more.     Have  I  disturbed 
Her  virgin  soul,  then  I  no  more  disturb  it; 
I  leave  her. 

Mephistopheles.     Leave   her   now?    Is   that 
quite  fair? 
You  bring  the  trouble,  then  refuse  to  ease  it. 
Go  back  to  her. 

Faust.         What  would'st   thou   have   me  do? 

Mephistopheles.     Finish  what  is  begun. 

Faust.  Away,  thou  pimp! 

I 


114  FAUST  ACT  II 

I'll  not  seduce  her  body  and  her  soul ! 

Mephistopheles.     Her    soul    thou    hast    se- 
duced —  why  hang  on  here  ? 
She  is  no  longer  virgin  in  her  thoughts, 
Thou  hast  corrupted  every  wandering  whim. 
Think  you  she  lieth  now  so  still  of  nights? 
She  turns  in  darkness  to  the  form  of  thee 
And  round  thy  image  throws  her  burning  arms. 
What  is  the  body's  touch  between  you  two? 
Now  her  imagination  is  deflowered: 
Thou  hast  defiled  her,  Faust,  for  evermore. 

Faust.     Ah  no  !     Ah  no ! 

Mephistopheles.  The  only  recompense 

Is  now  to  sate  the  craving  thou  hast  waked; 
To-night ! 

Faust.     To-night ! 


sc.  V  FAUST  115 

Mephistopheles.     Ay,  sir,  the  silvering  moon 
Heralds  the  dawn  of  love.     Yet  have  a  care ! 
Her  mother  sleeps  but  lightly !      This  shall  serve 
To  smooth  her  restless  pillow. 

Faust.     [Taking  phial.]  What  is  here? 

Mephistopheles.    A  sweet  decoction  that  shall 
swiftly  link 
Sunset  and  dawn  in  one. 

Faust.  Not  poison  ? 

Mephistopheles.  No ! 

Sleep  is  no  poison  though  it  last  for  ever. 

Faust.     Then  let  us  both  in  ruin  fall  together, 
And  one  damnation  quickly  seize  us  both. 

^Iephistopheles.     Now  Hell  seethes  up  in  her 
again.     Away 
Into  her  room,  and  leave  it  not  till  dawn. 


SCENE  VI 

Scene.  —  Margaret's  garden 

[Margaret  spinning  in  the  doorway. 

Margaret 

Gone  is  my  peace,  and  with  heart  so  sore 

I  shall  find  it  again  nevermore. 

If  he  be  not  near  me,  the  world  is  a  grave 

And  bitter  as  is  the  sea-wave. 

Ah  !   my  poor  brain  is  racked  and  crazed, 

My  spirit  and  senses  amazed ! 

Gone  is  my  peace,  and  with  heart  so  sore 

I  shall  find  it  again  nevermore. 

At  the  window  I  stand  only  to  greet  him, 

I  leave  the  house  but  to  meet  him. 
ii6 


sc.  VI  FAUST  117 

Ah  !    the  smile  of  his  mouth  and  the  power  of  his 
eye 

And  his  noble  symmetry! 
What  a  charm  in  his  speech,  in  his  touch  what 
bliss ! 

The  rapture  of  his  wild  kiss! 
My  bosom  is  aching  for  him  alone  — 

Might  I  make  him  my  very  own ! 
Might  I  kiss  but  his  lips  till  my  mouth  were  fire, 

And  then  on  his  kisses  expire  1 

Enter  Faust 

Ah,  dearest !    thou  hast  been  so  long  away, 

I  almost  feared  .  .  .     What  it  would  be  to  lose 

thee 
Thou  know'st  not ! 


Ii8  FAUST  ACT  II 

Faust.     \K.issing  her.]    Margaret,   once   more 
I  am  happy. 
I  fled  away  into  the  wilderness 
To  commune  with  my  God.     I  lived  alone 
With  mighty  trees  and  waters  and  wide  air, 
With  wild  and  winged  things,  creatures  and  birds; 
But  all  availed  not.     Oh,  the  very  desert 
Was  haunted  by  thee;   solitudes  were  filled 
Suddenly  with  thy  presence,  silences 
Murmured  thee  in  my  ear.     From  thee  to  fly 
Is  but  to  bring  thee  doubly  near  to  me. 
Margaret.     And   I  all  day  lonely  at  yonder 
window 
Have  stood,  and  listened  for  a  single  step; 
Now  would  I  fall  to  singing,  now  would  cease. 
Now  took  my  work  up,  and  now  set  it  down ; 


sc.vi  FAUST  "9 

And  now  I  loved  in  rapture,  now  in  gloom. 
x\h  1   leave  me  nevermore. 

Faust.  Nay,  nevermore. 

Marg.\ret.     Oh !  the  deep  bliss  descending  on 
me  fast, 
Like  steady  rain  on  an  unfolding  flower. 
Yet  one  thing  troubles  me. 

F^^^TgT.  What  troubles  thee? 

Margaret.     Dearest,  dost  thou  believe  ? 
Faust.  I'^  what? 

IMargaret.  In  God. 

Faust.     Darling,  who  dares  say  "I  believe  in 

God"? 
Margaret.     Oh  !  but  we  must ! 
Faust.  I  feel  the  living  God 

Trembling  in  starlight,  surging  in  the  sea, 


120  FAUST  ACT  II 

And  rushing  by  me  in  the  wind ;   I  feel  Him 
Approach  me  close  in  twilight  without  word. 
He  shakes  my  soul  with  thunder  —  oh,  to  feel 
It  all !     I  have  no  single  name  to  give  it  — 
Bliss,    Love,    God,   what   you  will,    the    name   is 

smoke 
Obscuring  all  the  serene  glow  of  Heaven. 

Margaret.     And,    dear,    long   has   it   been    a 
grief  to  me 
To  see  thee  in  such  company. 

Faust.  How  so? 

Margaret.     Thy  comrade,  who  is  ever  at  thy 
side; 
His  face  with  a  deep  horror  fills  my  soul, 
And  my  heart  shudders  at  his  voice. 

Faust.  Yet  why? 


sc.  VI  FAUST  121 

Margaret.     I  know  not;   but  believe  me  I  can 
tell 
He  is  not  a  good  man.     O  God  forgive  me 
If  I  speak  ill  of  any;   but  I  feel 
He  is  not  good.     I  am  so  happy  here, 
So  jielding  and  free,  and  warm  upon  thy  arm, 
But  if  his  face  peer  round  the  garden  wall 
I  am  struck  cold,  and  cannot  love,  or  pray. 
But  I  must  go. 

Faust.  Ah  !    will  there  never  come 

A  quiet  hour  when  we  two,  heart  to  heart 
And  soul  to  soul  may  cling;   when  we  two  may 
Drive  down   the  stream  and   headlong  greet  the 

sea, 
The  full  ocean  of  bliss? 

Margaret.  Now  am  I  thine 


122  FAUST  ACT  11 

So  wholly,  thine  in  every  thought  and  hope, 
In  my  outgoing  and  returning,  night 
And  day,  by  sunlight  or  by  moonlight  thine; 
So  utterly  am  I  given  o'er  to  thee 
In  spirit,  that  what  else  thou  dost  desire 
Can  have  no  strangeness  in  it,  only  bliss. 
I    have   yielded  —  then  do  with    me  what    thou 
wilt. 

Faust.     Oh,  if  to-night I  burn  for  thee  ! 

Margaret.  And  I 

For  thee ! 

Faust.     To-night  then ! 

Margaret.  If  I  slept  alone 

I  would  undraw  the  bolt  for  thy  desire ; 
But  mother  sleeps  so  light  of  late,  and  if 
She  should  discover  us  I  could  but  die. 


sc.vi  FAUST  123 

Faust.     Thou   angel,   fear  it   not.     Here  is   a 
phial : 
Pour  but  three  drops  into  her  sleeping  cup 
And  she  v\-ill  sleep  on  deeply  thro'  the  night. 

^£\RG.\RET.     It  will  not  harm  her:    thou  art 
siu-e? 

Faust.      Would  I 
Give  it  if  there  were  danger? 

Margaret.  O  beloved, 

I  can  refuse  thee  nothing  thou  dost  \s-ish, 
I  will  refuse  thee  nothing.     I  will  open 
That  ^\"indow  when  she  is  fallen  quite  asleep; 
Listen  for  that  —  and  then  I'll  unlock  the  door. 
How  heavy  come  the  roses  on  the  air 
To-night  I     Kiss  me  —  I  must  go  in. 

[He  kisses  her  passionately. 


124  FAUST  ACT  II 

Faust.  'Tis  hard 

To  part  but  for  a  moment. 
Margaret.  Only  wait! 

\She  goes  into  the  house.     As  Faust  stands 
expectant,  the  door  of  the  garden  opens  and 
Mephistopheles  appears. 
Faust.     Who's  there? 
Mephistopheles.     A  friend. 
Faust.  A  fiend! 

Mephistopheles.  Ay,  both  in  one! 

Faust.     Monster,  begone ! 
Mephistopheles.       I   have   no  need  to  stay, 
My  work  is  done. 

[Margaret's  hand  is  seen  opening  the  lattice 
as  Faust  makes  a  threatening  gesture  to 
Mephistopheles. 


,  VI  FAUST  125 

Softly !     The  rest  is  thine ! 

[Faust  halts:  his  eyes  turn  toward  the  cottage, 

the  door  of  which  slowly  opens.     Faust  is 

drawn   towards   it.     He  looks   hack   as   he 

enters. 

Faust.     And  thine ! 

Mephistopheles.     [As     the     door    closes     on 
Faust.]     Ay,  truly  thine  and  mine  in  one ! 


ACT   III 


ACT   III 

SCF.NF..  —  Outside  the  Cathedral,  with  Martha's 
house  to  R.  The  nave  and  choir  of  the  Cathedral 
set  across  the  stage,  leaving  space  for  a  narrow 
street  that  runs  up  stage  between  it  and  Martha's 
house.  Down  stage  L.C.  a  fountain.  Above  it, 
beside  a  buttress  in  the  Cathedral  ivall,  stands  an 
image  of  the  Virgin.  It  is  close  upon  Vesper 
time,  and  a  group  of  Girls  are  gossiping  by  the 
fountain  as  they  fill  their  pitchers. 

[Elsa  enters  down  street  R. 
Elsa.    Hast  heard  the  news? 
Laine.  Old  Katrine's  cat  is  dead! 

LiSBETH.     We  heard  that  yesterday. 

K  129 


I30  FAUST  ACT 

1ST    Girl.  Ay,  that's  no  news! 

At  dawn  the  cobbler  sUt  his  thumb  in  twain 
In  mending  Sach's  shoe  ! 

2ND  Girl.  I  saw  it  done. 

LiSBETH.     Hast  thou  naught  else  to  tell  ? 

Elsa.  In  truth  I  have  ! 

A  mighty  throng  is  gathered  in  the  Platz, 
'Tis  cried  the  war  is  ended,  and  to-day 
Our  troops  draw  toward  the  city. 

Lisa.  News  indeed ! 

Then  Valentine  comes  with  them? 

Elsa.  At  their  head! 

He  hath  won  such  glory  that  he  now  returns 
As  captain  of  his  band ! 

Laine.  Poor  Margaret! 

I  wonder  hath  she  heard? 


in  FAUST  I3« 

Lisa.  'Tis  likely  not, 

For  since  her  mother's  death  three  months  gone  by, 
She  seldom  goes  abroad. 

Laine.  Both  day  and  night 

The  shuttered  windows  of  her  house  are  closed, 
And  there  she  sits  alone. 

Lisa.  'Twas  late  last  night 

I  had  tended  poor  old  Anna  who  lay  sick, 
And  as  I  hurried  homeward,  here  she  stood, 
Filling  her  pitcher  'neath  the  darkened  moon 
Whilst  all  the  city  slept! 

Laine.  I'll  go  to  her; 

Her  brother's  home-coming  will  cheer  her  heart. 
Lisa.     Hush  !   here  she  comes. 

[Margaret  enters    and   sits   wearily  on  the 
edge  of  the  wall. 


132  FAUST  ACT 

Lisa.  Dear  Margaret,  hast  thou  heard 

The  war  is  at  an  end? 

Margaret.  Hither  as  I  came 

They  cried  the  news  along  our  narrow  street. 

Laine.     And  Valentine  returns  a  captain  now ! 
Shall  that  not  make  thee  glad? 

Margaret.  I  must  be  glad 

That  he  is  safely  home. 

Lisa.  Not  every  girl 

Can  boast  so  proud  a  brother. 

LiSBETH.  Some  there  are 

Who  are  lucky  to  have  none ! 

Lisa.  Ay,  true  enough ! 

LiSBETH.     'Twould    be    no    joy    for    Mistress 
Barbara 
Had  she  a  brother  homeward  bound  to-night. 


Ill  FAUST  133 

Laine.     Nay,  nor  for  him  who  brought  her  to 

this  pass. 
LiSBETH.  The  fault  was  hers,  not  his! 

No  man's  to  blame 
Who  takes  the  gift  a  wanton  flings  to  him. 

Margaret.     [Clinging  to  Laine.]     What  is  it 

that  they  say? 
LiSBETH.  Dost  thou  not  know? 

Margaret.     I've   been   too   much  indoors  for 
three  months  past, 
I  have  heard  nothing  but  the  bell  that  tolls 
From  hour  to  hour. 

LiSBETH.  Oh,   'tis  a  pretty  story! 

But  now  she's  got  her  due,  and  serves  her  right. 
What    else    could    she    expect?      Both    day    and 
night 


134  FAUST  ACT 

She  hung  upon  his  kisses.     Now  she  knows 
What  comes  of  too  much  kissing. 

Margaret.  Oh,  poor  thing! 

But  is  it  so  indeed  ? 

Lisa.  Indeed  it  is! 

LiSBETH.     Ask  through  the  city!     Every  gos- 
sip's tongue 
Is  wagging  of  her  shame.     Why  pity  her? 
Whilst  honest  girls  would  sit  at  home  and  spin 
She'd  steal  away  o'  nights  to  meet  her  swain, 
Who  leaves  her  for  reward  a  sinner's  shift. 

Margaret.     Nay,  surely  he  will   take  her  for 
his  wife  ? 

LiSBETH.     Not  he!     And  who  can  wonder? 
There  are  more 
Like  proud  Miss  Barbara  who  only  wait 


Ill  FAUST  135 

Till  he  shall  have  a  mind  to  kiss  again. 
He'll  meet  them  on  his  journey. 

Margaret.  Has  he  gone? 

Oh,  'tis  not  fair ! 

LiSBETH.  Why,  think  you  he  would  wed 

A  maid  who  could  not  wait  to  claim  a  ring? 
Not  he  !     Come,  girls,  'tis  late,  and  I've  no  mind 
To  furnish  food  for  gossips! 

1ST  Girl.  Nay,  nor  I ! 

[They  take  up  their  pitchers  and  move  off  in 
different  directions.     Margaret  is  left  weep- 
ing.    Lisa,  who  is  just  going  out,  returns 
to  her. 
Margaret.     Poor  Barbara! 
Lisa.  Dear  Margaret,  grieve  not  so ! 

Thv  gentle  heart  is  all  too  pure  to  know 


136  FAUST  ACT 

The  sin  that  tempted  her.     Yet  thou  canst  weep 
While  others  speak  in  scorn ! 

Margaret.  Oh,  leave  me  —  go ! 

Lisa.     See  then,  I'll  take  the  pitcher  to  thy  door 
And  come  again  for  thee ! 

[Lisa  goes  out. 

Margaret.  In  days  long  flown 

I  too  have  scorned  each  sinner  as  she  fell ! 
Sure  of  myself,  there  were  no  words  too  hard 
To  paint  the  thing  I  deemed  I  ne'er  could  be  — • 
The  thing  I  am  to-day  — ■  a  living  sin  ! 
And    yet  —  and    yet  —  that   one    who    drew    me 

down 
Seemed  then,  dear  God,  so  true,  so  good,  so  dear ! 
[SJie  throws  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  Virgin. 
O  Mother  of  all  sorrows,  thou  alone 


in  FAUST  137 

Canst  pierce  my  sorrow;    thou  alone  canst  cure 
The  ceaseless  pain  that  bows  me  to  the  earth. 
The  prayer  I  dare  not  utter  thou  canst  hear ! 
And  those  vain  tears  that  washed   thy  stainless 

feet 
Night    after    night,    hast    thou    not    seen    them 

fall? 
I  have  no  help  but  thee !   no  hope  but  here. 
As  thou  wert  once  a  maid,  be  pitiful, 
Take  in  thy  hands  my  breaking,  bleeding  heart 
And  save  my  ruined  soul  from  death's  last  stain. 
{There  is  a  pause.     The  organ  sounds  from 
the   Church,    the   ivindoivs   of  ivhich   sJiow 
the   candle-light   unthin.     A  few    Citizens 
come  from    L.  and  enter  the  porch.     They 
are  followed  by  Lisa. 


138  FAUST  ACT 

Lisa.     Dear    Margaret,    you    are    weary.     Let 

us  go. 
Margaret.    Ay,  let  us  go  within.    Lend  me 
your  hand; 
To-night  we'll  pray  together,  if  I  may! 

\As  Lisa  supports  her  into  the  Church,  Faust 
and  Mephistopheles  come  down  the  dark 
alley  from  the  right.  Mephistopheles 
peeps  round  the  angle  of  the  Church  and  sees 
Margaret. 
Faust.  Who  was  it  entered  there? 
Mephistopheles.  Some  aged  crone 

With     crooked,    twisted     limbs  —  no     dish    for 
thee. 
Faust.     I  thought  'twas  Margaret! 
Mephistopheles.  Nay,  that  lonely  bird 


Ill  FAUST  139 

Sits  in  her  wicker  cage  waiting  for  him 
Who  clipped  her  wings. 

Faust.  Why,  then  I'll  go  to  her! 

Mephistopheles.     What !     doth    that    poorer 
fancy  still  endure  ? 
Doctor,   you   shame   my   trade !     For   this   mean 

feast 
The  merest  prentice  pander  might  have  served ! 
Have  I  not  cured  you  yet  ?     What  find  you  there  ? 
Faust.     A  fluttering  flower  that  lures  me  like 

a  star. 
Mephistopheles.      I    love    them    not,    these 
flowers  that  scent  the  air 
I  was  not  born  to  breathe.     In  these  past  months 
Since  first  that  bud  was  plucked,  we  have  seen 
the  world. 


I40  FAUST  ACT 

Faust.     Ay!    and  not   once   her  equal    in  the 

world. 
Mephistopheles.     Nay!    there  are  worlds  on 
worlds  unfolded  yet 
Whose  treasured  store  of  beauty  still  awaits  us. 
As   children   strew   the   hedge-blooms   they   have 

gathered 
Along  the  dusty  highway  —  cast  her  off 
And  let  us  on  our  road. 

Faust.  There  is  no  road 

That  leads  not  back  to  her. 

Mephistopheles.  Well,  as  you  will ! 

Meanwhile  I  have  some  business  of  my  own 
That  needs  my  presence  here. 

Faust.  I  need  thee  not! 

\ExU  Faust. 


Ill  FAUST  141 

Mephistopheles.     This    comedy    must    end, 
and  swiftly  too. 
Beside  that  purer  soul  my  spirit  flags; 
I  have  no  scythe  to  shear  a  harebell  down, 
Its  weakness  masters  me.     Till  that  hour  come, 
When  all  engulfed  in  sin  she  sinks  and  drowns, 
My  power  is  powerless.     Once  that  hour  is  past, 
Then,  Faust,  thou  art  mine  again  ! 

\}lusk  heard  from  Chunk. 
She  kneels  within 
Yet  knows  not  how  to  pray.     I'll  go  to  her. 
Unseen,  yet  seeing  all,  beside  her  chair 
I'll  breathe  a  whispered  poison  in  her  ear 
Shall  draw  her  soul  down  to  the  verge  of  Hell. 

[.I5  he  speaks  the  stage  darkens  and  the  wall 
of  the  Church  becomes  transparent,  showing 


142  FAUST  ACT 

the  dimly  lit  interior  where  Margaret  kneels 
among  the  worshippers^  Mephistopheles 
bending  over  her.  The  opening  lines  of  the 
Latin  hymn  are  being  chanted. 

Chorus 
Dies  Irae  dies  ilia 
Solvet  saeclum  in  favilla. 
Mephistopheles.     It  is  not  with  thee  now  as 
once  it  was, 
When  as  a  prattling  child  those  innocent  lips 
First  learned  by  rote  the  words  of  Holy  Writ 
From  out  the  well-worn   book  thy  mother  held. 
Margaret.     I  cannot  pray !     Across  my  dark- 
ened soul 
Hither  and  thither  in  a  tangled  flight 
Come  thoughts  that  drag  me  down. 


Ill  FAUST  143 

Chorus 
Judex  ergo  cum  sedebit, 
Quidquid  latet  adparebit, 
Nil  inultum  remanebit. 

Mephistopheles.  Where  tends 

thy  thought? 
What  hidden  crime  within  thy  bosom  dwells? 
Would'st  pray  for  mercy  on  thy  mother's  soul, 
Who  slept  nor  woke  again  through  thee  !    through 

thee! 
Her  blood  lies  at  thy  door. 

Chorus 

\Wilh  third  verse.] 
Margaret.  Oh,  woe  is  me! 

I  dare  not  look  toward  Heaven :   the  gate  is  shut. 
My  heart  sinks  to  the  dust. 


144  FAUST  ACT 

Mephistopheles.  Beneath  thy  breast 

Canst  thou  not  feel  the  pulse  of  that  new  life 
That  stirs  and  quickens  there?     Dost  thou  not 

know 
Whither  thy  sin  shall  drive  thee? 

Chorus 
Quid  sum  miser  tunc  dicturus, 
Quem  patronum  rogaturus, 
Cum  vix  Justus  sit  securus? 

Margaret.  Oh  !    no  more  ! 

The  pillars  close  me  in ;   the  roof  falls  down 
To  crush  me  to  the  earth.     I  cannot  breathe ! 
Dear  Mary  Mother,  turn  thy  face  once  more. 

Mephistopheles.     Her   face   is   turned   away, 
she  heeds  thee  not; 


Ill  FAUST  145 

The  light  of  Heaven  goes  out. 

Margaret.     \To    Lisa.]     Thy    cordial!     Oh! 
[Margaret    half  swoons    as,  with  the  final 
repeat  of  the  Chorus,  the  vision  fades  and 
the  exterior  view  of    the   Cathedral   is   re- 
stored.    In  tJie  darkness   Mephistopheles 
creeps    stealthily    from    the     door    and    is 
about  to  go  off  as  Altmayer  and  Others 
enter  R.     He  hides  behind  a  buttress. 
Altmayer.     They've  reached  the  city !     We'll 

drink  deep  to-night. 
1ST   Student.     [To  Frosch,   who  comes  -with 
Others   down  the  alley.]     Where   are   they 
now  ? 
Frosch.  Within  the  Western  gate. 

Altmayer.     And  Valentine? 

L 


146  FAUST  ACT 

Frosch.  He  marches  at  their  head. 

Altmayer.     That  serves  as  fit  occasion  for  our 

cups. 
Frosch.     The  crowds  draw  round  him  shouting 
Victory ! 
But  he,  scarce  heeding  them,  still  presses  on 
To  greet  his  sister  Margaret. 

[Brander  and  Siebel,  with  Others,  have 
entered  L. 
Brander.  Say  you  so? 

Why,  then  he  hath  not  heard  ? 

Mephistopheles.     [Aside.]    Nay,  sirs,  not  yet ! 
The  Devil  takes  his  time. 

Frosch.  What  should  he  hear? 

Brander.     The  sorriest  news,  if  what  is  said  be 
true. 


in  FAUST  147 

SiEBEL.    Ay  !    and  the  foulest  slander  if  'tis  false, 
As  here  upon  my  soul  I  vouch  it  so. 

Mephistopheles.     \.\.side.\     Be    thrifty    with 
your  soul;    you  have  but  one. 

Brander.     To-night    'tis    whispered    that    her 
mother's  death 
Came  not  at  Nature's  call.     Within  her  room 
A  poisoned  phial  was  found. 

Frosch.  Is  that  enough 

To  brand  as  murderess  the  gentlest  maid 
That  dwells  within  our  city? 

Siebel.  Nay,  there's  more; 

So  slander  grows  on  slander !     Now  'tis  said 
She  slew  her  mother  to  conceal  her  sin. 

Studext.     Oh,  shame!    I'll  not  believe  it! 

2ND  Student.  Nay,  nor  I ! 


148  FA  UST  ACT 

Mephistopheles.     [Aside.]     The  world  grows 

charitable  !       No  fault  of  mine ! 
SiEBEL.     Is   there   one    here   who   would   dare 
breathe  this  lie 
To  Valentine  her  brother? 
Voices.  Nay,  not  one  ! 

SiEBEL.     If  this  foul  gossip  needs  must  reach 
his  ears, 
It  shall  not  be  through  us. 

Enter  Student. 

Well,  sir,  what  now? 
1ST  Student.     The  Burgomaster  with  the  city 
guard 
Keep  watch  on  Margaret's  house. 

2ND    Student.  Ay,  and  'tis  said 

A  warrant's  out  against  her. 


,111  FAUST  149 

SiEBEL.  Nay  then,  friends! 

At  such  a  time  'tis  fit  that  we  who  love  her 
Should  speak  on  her  behalf. 
All.  Ay,  so  we  will ! 

[They  go  off  L. 
Mephistopheles.     Oh,   faithful    hounds!    be- 
fore the  dawn  is  here 
Your    tongues    shall     learn     to    sound     another 

note. 

Enter  Faust. 

What,  Doctor,  back  so  soon? 

Faust.  She  is  not  there; 

The  house  is  closed;   there  is  no  light  within; 
I     have    sought     her    through     the    city    all    in 
vain. 

Mephistopheles.     Have  you  no  tidings  of  her? 


15°  FAUSr  ACT, 

Faust.  Ay,  the  worst! 

The   whisper   grows   against   her.     Every   tongue 
Breathes  slander  on  her  name. 

Mephistopheles.  I  feared  as  much ! 

Some  gossip  hath  made  mischief.     Gossips  will. 
Doctor,  we'd  best  make  off. 

Faust.  No,  I  will  stay 

Till  I  have  seen  her  face,  and  at  her  feet 
Have  prayed  for  pardon. 

Mephistopheles.     Well,  I'm  still  your  slave. 
An  ancient  pet  of  mine  dwells  hereabouts; 

[Striking  Jiis  guitar. 
These  strains  may  wake  her;  she  is  still  romantic; 
We'll  gather  news  of  her. 

Faust.  I  care  not  how, 

So  that  these  eyes  may  greet  her  once  again. 


Ill  FAUST  151 

Mephistopheles.     Doctor,   to-night   I'm  in  a 
frolic  mood 
And,  like  some  old  Tom  cat  upon  the  tiles 
Who  stalks  his  love  behind  each  chimney-stack, 
I'll  thread  this  alley,  mewing  as  I  go ! 

\They  go  off  and  up,  the  Song  dying  away  as 

shouts  an  heard  and 
[The    Crowd    enters,    Valentine    marching 
through   them    at   the  head   of   his   Troop 
amidst  the  shouts  of  the  multitude. 
Voices.     All  hail  to  Valentine ! 
Voices.  All  hail !    all  hail ! 

3RD  Student.     Come,  bear  him  to  the  tavern; 
'tis  not  far ! 
The  city  hath  decreed  good  wine  for  all. 
And  at  the  city's  charge. 


152  FAUST  ACT 

4TH  Student.  Come  then,  let's  on ! 

5TH  Student.     Ay,   set    him    shoulder    high ! 
Our  backs  shall  serve 
In  place  of  that  stout  steed  that  carried  him. 
\They  approach  Valentine,  who  checks  them. 
Valentine.     Good     comrades,     wait     awhile. 
Ere  that  shall  be 
There's  one  I  needs  must  greet  the  first  of  all, 
My  sister  Margaret.     There  at  her  feet 
I'll  lay  this  sword,  so  hacked  and  carved  with  war, 
And  then  we'll  drink  till  dawn ! 

[SiEBEL,  Brander,  and  Others  have  entered 
and  stand  in  a  silent  group. 

Ah,  Siebel  there! 
Brander !    and    thou,    old    Altmayer !  —  ay,    and 
Frosch  ! 


Ill  FAUST  153 

Well    met,    old    friends !     It    seems    an    age    and 

more 
Since   last   I   grasped   your   hands !     So   long,   in 

truth, 
I've  grown  a  stranger  to  our  city  lanes. 
Come,  lead  me  on  my  way! 

Brander.  Where,  Valentine? 

Valentine.        Where      else      but      home      to 
Margaret  ? 

[SiEBEL  intervenes. 
SiEBEL.  Go  not  there  ! 

Valentine.     Why  not? 
SiEBEL.  I  dare  not  tell  thee ! 

Valentine.  Dare  not?     Speak! 

Are  ye  all  dumb?     I  am  no  more  than  man, 
Yet  being  man,  must  school  me  to  endure 


154  FAUST  ACT 

What  Heaven  shall  please  to  send.   She  is  not  dead  ? 

SiEBEL.     No,  Valentine,  not  dead ! 

Brander.  Would  Heaven  she  were ! 

Valentine.     What    is    it    then    that    strangles 

all  your  tongues? 
SiEBEL.     Speak,  Brander,  for  I  cannot! 
Frosch.  Nay,  nor  I ! 

Brander.     'Tis    said    thy    mother    died    by 

Margaret's  hand. 
Valentine.     My  mother  dead,    and   slain   by 
Margaret ! 
Liar  !     I  could  choke  thee  ! 

Brander.  I'd  forgive  thee  that 

Could  I  unsay  what's  said,  undo  what's  done ! 
Valentine.     This  is  some  villainous  slander. 
If  God  willed 


Ill  FAUST  155 

In  sudden  wrath  to  change  an  angel  child 
Into  a  fiend,  there  would  be  cause  for  it. 
What  cause  was  here  ?    She  loved  her  mother  well 
And  was  as  well  beloved.     Why  should  she  take 
That  mother's  life? 

Brander.  Nay,  that  is  worst  of  all! 

She  took  that  mother's  life  to  hide  her  shame. 

Valentine.     Liar!     I'll  go  to  her! 
Enter  Burgomaster. 

Burgomaster.  Stay,  Valentine ! 

We  all  had  hoped  to  give  thee  public  greeting 
And  a  triumphant  welcome  from  the  town, 
But  this  must  stand  aside  till  happier  hours: 
Our  duty  now  gives  no  excuse  for  joy. 

Valentine.     Art  thou,  too,  in   this  treachery, 

this  plot 


156  FAUST  ACT 

Against  my  sister's  honour? 

Burgomaster.  If  'twere  so, 

The  wrong  were  quickly  righted.     'Tis  not   so. 
Upon  approved  witness  of  her  crime 
Thy  sister  Margaret  stands  accused  of  murder, 
And  here  I  hold  the  warrant  of  the  law 
To  arrest  her  as  my  prisoner. 

Valentine.  Is  that  all? 

Does  not  your  parchment  publish  some  excuse 
To  inform  the  world  why  she,  a  maid  so  pure, 
Should  on  a  sudden  turn  a  murderess? 

Burgomaster.     'Tis   known   and   proved   that 
night  thy  mother  died 
An  unknown  gallant,  stranger  to  our  town, 
Was  seen  to  enter  Margaret's  chamber  door. 
Nor  left  it  till  the  dawn. 


HI  FAUST  157 

Altmayer.  Sure  that  was  he 

Whose  comrade  tricked  us  as  we  sat  at  wine ! 
Frosch.     'Twas  he,  I'll  warrant  it! 
Valentine.  Enough  !     Enough  ! 

We'll  think  of  him  hereafter.     For  the  time 
This  must  seem  all  —  that  all  I  loved  is  lost. 
Now,  comrades,  turn  those  torches  to  the  ground; 
Oh !  that  I  had  found  death  in  glorious  war ! 
Or  any  stroke  but  this  !    But  yesterday 
Round  the  camp  fire  we  sat  and  talked  of  home. 
And  as  each  comrade  with  a  brimming  cup 
Toasted  in  turn  the  maid  he  loved  the  best, 
I  let  them  all  run  on,  till  at  the  last 
With  lifted  glass  I  did  but  breathe  her  name, 
And   all    were    dumb.       "  'Tis    true,    'tis    true ! " 
they   cried, 


158  FAUST  '  ACT 

"In  all  our  town  there's  but  one  Margaret, 
The  fairest,  best  of  all ! "  —  And  now  —  and  now  — 
Let  every  braggart  spurn  me  as  he  will, 
I  have  no  answer,  for  her  shame  is  mine. 

[Mepktstopheles     and     Faust     are     seen 

coming  down  the  alley,   Mephistopheles 

singing  to  the  guitar,  with  Faust  beside  him. 

SiEBEL.     Why,    here    he    comes!     That   knave 

who  ruined  her ! 
Frosch.     Ay,  and  that  juggling  villain  by  his 

side  ! 
Valentine.     Then    stand    aside.     This    issue 
must  be  mine. 
And  mine  alone. 

[He    draws      his      sword     and     approaches 
Mephistopheles,  who  still  sings. 


Ill  FAUST  159 

Thuu  whining  rat-catcher, 
Whom  now  wilt   thou  allure?     That  blow's  for 
thee! 

[iJe  dashes  the  guitar  to  tJie  ground. 
Mephistopheles.     The    lute    is    broken,    so 

the  song  must  cease. 
Valentine.     And    thou    who    lurk'st    behind, 

I've  more  for  thee. 
Mephistopheles.     He  knows  thee,  who  thou 

art,  yet  stand  thy  ground. 
Valentine.     Draw%  or  I'll  spit  thee ! 
Faust.  Thou  shalt  have  thy  will ! 

[Faust  draws. 
Mephistopheles.     Lunge    on    now,    have    no 
fear;    I'll  parry  all.  [They fight. 

Valentine.    Then  parry  that ! 


i6o  FAUST  ACT 

Mephistopheles.  Why  not? 

Valentine.  And  that ! 

Mephistopheles.  That  too ! 

Valentine.     I  think  the  Devil's  here,  my  arm 

grows  weak. 
Mephistopheles.     Now  is  your  time  —  thrust 
home ! 

[Faust  lunges  at  Valentine,  wJw  falls. 
Valentine.  O  God,  'tis  done ! 

[The  Crowd  gathers  round  Valentine. 
Mephistopheles.       He's    skewered    at    last ! 
Now  quick,  no  word  —  away ! 
[He  throws  his  cloak  round  Faust  and  they 
vanish. 
Burgomaster.     There's    murder    here !      Go, 
seize  them  both. 


in  FAUST  i6i 

SiEBEL.  They've  gone ! 

Burgomaster.     Whither  ? 
Brander.  I  know  not.     As  we 

followed  them 
It  seemed  to  me  that  they  became  as  air. 
Burgomaster.        Look     then     to     him     who 
fell! 

[Martha's    head    appears    at    the    window 
above.        And     other     heads    from     other 
windows. 
Martha.  What  brawl  is  this? 

[Margaret,    with     a     crowd     of     Citizens, 
enters  from  the  Church. 
Margaret.     Who  is  it  wounded  there? 
Brander.  Thy  mother's  son. 

Margaret.     Almighty  God!     Not  dying? 

M 


1 62  FAUST  AC7 

Valentine.  Ay,  I'm  dying, 

Yet    that    may    count    for    little.      Cease    your 

tears 
And  listen  while  ye  may;    my  time  is  brief. 

Margaret.     O  Valentine ! 

Valentine.  Why  dost  thou  loiter  here  ? 

Thou   should'st   be   at   thy   trade.     The   night   is 

young; 
For  what  thou  hast  to  sell  there  are  buyers  yet. 

Margaret.     Dear  God,  have  mercy ! 

Valentine.  Thou  wert  best  advised 

To  leave  God's  name  alone.     As  yet  'tis  plain 
Thou  art  but  a  prentice  hand  —  I'll  grant  thee 

that; 
But  custom  starves  all  scruples,  in  a  month 
Thy  beauty  will  be  free  of  all  the  town, 


Ill  FAUST  163 

And   then    when    that   same    beauty's   worn    and 

spent 
Thou'lt  stalk  the  street  a  flaunting,  painted  thing, 
Till    at    the    last   the    flaring    lights    shall    fright 

thee 
And    thou    shalt    lurk    beneath    some    darkened 

arch, 
A  wanton  to  the  end. 

Martha.  O  slanderous  tongue, 

Commend  thy  soul  to  God ! 

Valentine.  Foul  hag  of  Hell, 

If  I  could  slay  thee  ere  my  life  were  spent, 
I'd  think  that  all  my  sins  were  all  forgiven ! 
Margaret.     Oh,  speak  to  me ! 
Valentine.  It  is  too  late !     Too 

late! 


i64  FAUST  ACT  ii; 

I  loved  thee  more   than  all!     May  God  forgive 

thee! 
Now  like  a  soldier  go  I  to  my  God. 

\He  falls  back  dead.  Margaret  swoons 
in  the  arms  of  Lisa,  and  the  Guard,  at 
a  sign  from  the  Burgomaster,  gather 
round    her. 


ACT   IV 


ACT   IV 

Scene    I 
Scene.  —  The  Walpurgis  Night. 

{The  siimmit  of  the  Brocken.  The  Scene 
represents  the  verge  of  a  great  chasm  with 
mountain  peaks  jutting  up  from  the  depths 
below.  Across  the  gulf  stands  a  high 
mountain  with  jagged  sides.  On  the  R. 
in  front  is  a  path  descending  to  rocks. 
On  the  left,  an  uplifted  crag  overlooking  the 
depths  below. 

[In  a  hollow    at    the   foot    of    the    crag    the 

Witch    is    seated    by    her    cauldron.     The 

Scene  opens  with  thunder  and  lightning  and 

a   raging   wind.     On   separate   peaks   that 
167 


1 68  FAUST  ACT  IV 

rise  from  the  gulf  Witches  are  posted  as 
sentinels. 
1ST  Witch.     What  cry  is  in  the  air? 
2ND  Witch.  Our  master  comes. 

I  sp.w  him  riding  by  the  raven  stone. 
3RD  Witch.     Give    warning    down    the    gulf: 
from  peak  to  peak, 
Down  to  the  lake  that  fills  the  crater  bowl, 
Follow  the  owlet's  cry. 
Voice.     [Below.]  He  comes! 

2ND  Voice.  He  comes ! 

3RD  Voice.     Away !    Away !     He  is  here. 
Voices.  Away !    Away ! 

[Witches  disappear  as 
[Mephistopheles    and     Faust    ascend    the 
rocky  path  R. 


SCI  FAUST  169 

Faust.        I'll      go     no     farther!         Whither 

would'st  thou  lead? 
Mephistopheles.     Upward     to     yonder    crag 
whose  nodding  crown 
Leans  o'er  the  sulphurous  vale. 

Faust.  I'll  climb  no  more ' 

Through  shrieking  caverns  and  o'er  desert  fells. 
By   cliff   and   headland   down   v.-hose   shuddering 

sides 
The  roaring  cataract  cleaves  its  thunder-road,  — 
Borne  upward  as  a  feather  on  the  gale 
Still  have  I  followed  thee ! 

Mephistopheles.  As  still  thou  shalt 

Till    I    have    shown    thee    all!     Hark!     'tis    the 
hour. 


17°  faust  act  iv 

Chorus 

\From  below.] 

The  witches  ride  to  the  Brocken  top 
Upward  and  onward  they  may  not  stop. 

[Mephistopheles  draws  Faust  to  the  edge 
of  the  abyss. 
Mephistopheles.     Dost    see    them    swarming 
in  the  mists  below? 
Now  poised  for  flight,  and  herding  in  the  sky 
They  blacken  out  the  moon. 

Chorus 
Upward  and  onward  across  the  night 
To  the  topmost  beacon  we  take  our  flight ! 
[During    the    Chorus    there   is    a  flight    of 
Witches  across  the  sky. 


SCI  FAUST  171 

Mephistopheles.  Far  down  below 

They  scale  each  slope  and  crag,  a  mjTiad  throng. 
Round  gnarled  roots  like  serpents  intercoiling, 
O'er     rock      and     boulder     leaping,      skipping, 

scudding,  — 
See  how  they  press  and  jostle,  push  and  scramble 
To  reach  their  master's  feet!      Yet  some    there 

are 
That  stumble  on  the  path.     Up !    up !    and  on ! 
The  Devil's  road  grows  easier  at  the  last ! 

\As  he  speaks,  the  crags  and   mountain  tops 
gradually  fill    with    shadoivy  forms    whose 
voices  echo  across  the  gulf. 
1ST  Witch.     Whence  comest  thou? 
2XD  Witch.  Round  by  the  Ilsen  rock 

I  saw  the  white  owl  blinking  on  its  nest. 


172  FAUST  ACT  IV 

3RD  Witch.     Old  Baubo  rides  upon  a  farrow 

sow. 
4TH  Witch.     Ay!     Baubo    first    and    all    the 

flock  to  follow. 
Mephistopheles.     On  then !    and  on !    lest  I 

should  flay  and  score  ye. 
Voice.     \From     below.]       Hi!     there!       Ho! 
Mephistopheles.        Nay,      heed      him      not, 

press  on ! 
1ST  Witch.     Who  is  it  calls   from   the   rocky 

lake  below? 
Voice.       [From    below.]       I've    climbed    and 

climbed  three  hundred  years  and  more, 
Yet  cannot  reach  the  top ! 

[A     wild     laugh    from     the     Witches     as 
Mephistopheles  looks  down  the  gulf. 


SCI  FAUST  173 

Mephistopheles.  Old  Dotard,  no! 

Hast   not   yet   learned   that   towards    the    Devil's 

porch 
The  lighter  step  of  woman  wins  the  lead? 
While  club-foot  man  a  laggard  even  in  sin 
Toils  slowly  at  her  heels.     Trudge  on,  old  fool! 
Thou  shalt   reach   the   goal  at  last.     Trudge  on ! 
Trudge  on ! 

\\Y\ld  laughter  again. 

Chorus 
"With  a  rag  for  a  sail 
We  soar  on  the  gale, 
Then  swoop  and  fall 
At  our  master's  call. 

Faust.     What  are  these  shapes  and  wherefore 
are  they  here? 


174  FAUST  ACT  IV 

Mephistopheles.       To-night     Sir     Mammon 

holds  high  holiday, 
And  these  my  vassal  slaves  are  all  his  guests. 
A  goodly  throng  —  see  how  they  laugh  and  chatter  ! 
Sweet    witches    all  —  they     have     their    working 

days, 
But  now  in  wanton  measure  to  and  fro 
They  fill  a  vacant  hour  of  liberty. 
Dance  on  !     Dance  on  ! 

\T]ie  Witches  dance,  singing  as  they  move. 

Witches'   Chorus 

Through  fog  and  fen,  o'er  broom  and  heather, 
From  hidden  caves  and  from  hill  and  dell, 

As  leaves  that  scatter  and  drift  together 
We  draw  to  our  master,  the  Lord  of  Hell. 


SCI  FAUST  175 

The  owlet's  cry  is  the  note  we  follow ! 

As  the  night-wind  whistles  its  ceaseless  tune, 
We  hurry  and  scurry  o'er  hill  and  hollow 

With  feet  as  fleet  as  the  racing  moon. 

Now!    the  \nnd  is  hushed,  the  stars  are  falling, 
The  moon  hath  fled!    The  skies  are  bare; 

Hark  1     Hark  !    in  the  dark  'tis  the  owlet  calling ! 
The  night  is  waning.     Beware  !     Beware  ! 

Dost  hear  her  crying? 

Below !     Below ! 
The  clouds  are  fipng, 
The  night  is  dying! 

We  go  !     We  go ! 

\As    the    sound    dies    away,    the    Witches 
gradually  disappear. 


1/6  FAUST  ACT  IV 

Faust.  What  crazy  world  is  this? 

Mephistopheles.     a  world  where  worlds  are 
made  —  a  busy  hive 
Of  murmuring  bees  whose  poisoned  honey-bags 
Yield  to  men's  lips  that  bitter-sweet  called  Love. 
Here  beauty  ere  it  takes  on  mortal  shape 
Sips  at  the  fount  of  sin,  then  onward  speeding, 
Enters  Life's  portals,  gathering  as  it  goes 
The  voices  and  the  blossoms  of  the  Spring. 
Here  the  rough  gold  first  takes  its  glittering  sheen 
To  sate  the  greedy  pangs  of  avarice; 
Here  crowns  are  fashioned,  and  on  yonder  anvil 
For  every  crown  a  beaten  blade  is  forged 
To  fit  the  usurper's  hand.     Glory  and  Power, 
Ambition  and  the  countless  painted  toys 
That  draw  men  onward  in  the  race  toward  Hell 


SCI  FAUST  177 

Here,  by  deft  hands  are  decked  and  garlanded 
To  lure  the  world  !    my  world ! 

Faust.  And  is  it  here 

Thou   dost   think  to  stay  the   memory   of   those 

tears 
That  drip  and  fall  upon  my  coward  soul 
Like  rain  through  ruined  woods? 

Mephistopheles.  Good  Doctor,  no; 

This  is  but  preface  to  the  feast  to  come. 
See,  here  is  more. 

\They  approach  the  Witch's  cauldron. 
Old  huckster,  I  should  know  thee. 
Faust.     And  I  too  well ! 

Witch.  And  I,  I  know  ye  both! 

Mephistopheles.     What    hast    thou    here    to 
please  this  Lord  I  serve? 

N 


178  FAUST  ACTiv 

Witch.     Good  store  of  richest  wares  of  every 
fashion 

Most  cunningly  assorted.     Scan  them  well ! 

For   all    have    served    their   turn !     That   dagger 
there 

Still  bears  upon  it  the  red  rust  of  blood ! 

Of  all  these  jewelled  cups  there  is  not  one 

That  hath  not  borne  to  lips  now  marble-white 

The  sleepy  wine  of  death.     There  is  no  gem 

Of  all  this  glittering  heap  but  once  hath  served 

To  bring  a  maid  to  shame. 

Faust.  Foul  hag,  be  dumb ! 

Mephistopheles.     She     doth      mistake      our 
errand.  —  All  that's  done 

Is  done.  —  To-night  we  seek  from  out   the  past 

A  fairer  vision. 


SCI  FAUST  179 

Witch.  Master,  pay  me  then ! 

'Twas  on  the  Brocken  I  should  claim  my  fee; 
So  stood  our  bargain. 

Mephistopheles.       Would 'st     thou     threaten 
me? 
I'll  pay  thee  naught  till  I  shall  pay  thee  all. 

Witch.     \Aside.\     Then  ere  night  ends  I'll  earn 
my  fee  in  full, 
And  trick  thee  with  a  vision  fair  and  foul 
That  shall  affright  ye  both. 

Mephistopheles.  Cease  !  mumbling  hag. 

Faust.     Is  this  thy  power?    whose  vilest  min- 
isters 
Still  m.ock  and  scoff  at  thee? 

Mephistopheles.    Would 'st  know  my  power? 
I  who  have  changed  thy  lean  and  withered  age 


i8o  FAUST  ACT  IV 

To   this  new   garb  of   youth?     Stand    then    and 

hearken 
While  from  the  void  my  hounds  of  Hell  give  tongue. 
\A    roll   of  thtmder  with  lightning  gleam. 

Chorus 
[From  below.] 

Cling  fast !    cling  fast ! 

The  owlet  is  hiding 
On  the  tail  of  the  blast 

Our  master  is  riding. 

Mephistopheles.     Dost    hear    those    thunder 
steeds  whose  clattering  hoofs 
Tear  the  night's  covering  to  a  tattered  sheet? 
Ride   on !     Ride   on !     my  lightning  Limps    shall 
guide  ye. 

[Drawing  Faust  to  the  brink  of  the  chasm. 


SCI  FAUST  i8i 

Look  where  old  Chaos  takes  a  newer  fashion 
As  down  the  abyss  the  cloven  mountains  fall, 
And  shifting  forests  slide  into  the  gulf. 
Doth  that  content  thee? 

[During  this  speech  the  rocks  have  sundered 
and  fallen.  Uprooted  trees  have  crashed 
into  the  abyss,  and  the  mountain  across  the 
gulf  lias  been  so  shattered  as  to  leave  a  vast 
cavern  in  its  side. 
Faust.  Ay !   no  more  !   no  more  1 

I  have  seen  enough. 

Mephistopheles.     [Laughing.]    Nay,  tremble 
not,  good  Doctor ! 
The  work  of  demolition's  always  noisy; 
Yet  here  it  has  served  our  turn;    for  yonder  cleft 
Carved  by  the  thunder,  yields  a  fitting  stage 


i82  FAUST  ACTU 

Whereon  we'll  summon  for  thy  amorous  glance 
From  out  their  scattered  tombs  those  Queens  of 

Love 
Whom  Time  hath  still  left  peerless. 
\To  the  Witch.]  On,  old  Granny! 

Quick !   stir  thy  brew  !   and  let  the  sport  begin, 
As  high  encamped  upon  this  airy  shelf 
My  Lord  shall  watch  the  pageant  as  it  grows, 
And  claim  of  all  these  buried  vanished  lips 
Whose  kiss  he  fain  would  win  !     Lead  on  !     Lead 
on ! 

\A  group  of  young  Witches  leave  the  cauldron 
and  draw  Faust  with  chains  of  flowers  up 
to  the  summit  of  the  crag  where  ]Mephistoph- 
ELES  is  already  standing.  And  as  he 
follows  them  half  entranced,  the  Chorus  is 


SCI  FAUST  183 

heard  across   the   gulf  and  the  Vision  0/ 
Helen  of  Troy  is  gradually  revealed. 

Chorus 
Once  more  upon  the  purple  main 

That  scudding  sail  doth  bear  her  home, 
Troy's  cindered  towers  are  fired  again 

And  flare  across  the  crimsoned  foam. 

Mephistopheles.     See  how  they  press  around 
her,  all  her  train, 
She   for  whose   lips   the   world  was   drenched   in 

blood. 
Yet     note     that     changeless     beauty     bears     no 

trace 
Of  all  her  countless  slain. 
Faust.  Helen  ? 


i84  FAUST  ACT  n 

Mephistopheles.  Ay,  Helen, 

My  loyal  subject  Queen  who  shattered  Troy, 
And  dyed  the  ^gean  with  a  Tyrian  stain. 
Faust.     Draw  closer,  closer,  till  I  touch  those 

lips. 
Mephistopheles.     Nay !  wait  awhile  !  I  know 
an  Orient  bough 
Whereon  there  hangs  a  riper,  ruddier  fruit 
Embrowned    by  Egypt's    sun.      Lead    on,   sweet 

hag! 
The  feast  is  not  half  served. 
Witch.     \From  her  cauldron.]    Nay,  Sire,  there 
is  more. 
As  thou  shalt  learn  before  the  cauldron  cools. 

[The   Vision   of    Helen    has   faded  as   the 
Chorus  is  renewed. 


sci  faust  185 

Chorus 

Down  old  Xilus'  vacant  stream 

Steers,  with  silken  sail  unfurled, 
She  who  in  a  golden  dream 

Chained  the  masters  of  the  world. 

Ever  to}ang,  never  cloxdng, 

Soul  and  body  ever  new, 
All  enjoyed  and  all  enjopng 

Ever  false  and  ever  true  1 

[During  the  Chorus  ///e  Vision  of  Cleopatra 
is  rez'caled,  preceded  by  Egyptian  Dancing 
Girls. 
Mephistopheles.     Dost  see  her,  Faust?     The 
ruin  that  she  wrought 
Lies  buried  deep  beneath  the  shifting  Nile, 


1 86  FAUST  ACT  IV 

While  she  whose  conquering  beauty  laughed  at 

Time 
Sails  o'er  the  centuries  to  greet  her  Lord. 
Fair  Cleopatra,  kindred  serpent  soul, 
I  hail  thee  peerless  still  1 

Faust.  And  I !     And  I ! 

Mephistopheles.     Doth  that  not  tempt  thee? 

Faust.  Let  me  but  print  one  kiss 

Between  those  breasts  that  cushioned  Antony; 
There  is  no  more  to  win. 

\The  Vision  Jades. 

Mephistopheles.  Wait  till  the  close, 

Then   thou   shalt   choose   at  will. 
\To  Witch.  Go  back  to  Rome. 

Witch.     Ay,  back  to  Rome,  and  back  and  back 
again ! 


iC.  I  FAUST  187 

Chorus 
She  stands  by  Tiber's  reddened  flood ! 

That  door  she  guards  is  Love's  last  tomb, 
Those   gilded  breasts  are   smeared  with  blood 

Wrung  from  the  ruined  heart  of  Rome. 

[During  the  Chorus  the  vision  of  Messalina 
appears. 
Mephistopheles.     Look    where    she    stands, 
passion's  ungrudging  slave, 
Who   leased    a    throne    to    wear    a    strumpet's 

crown. 
Hail!    Messalina,  whose  enfolding  arms 
Caught  to  thee  nightly  all  the  lust  of  Rome, 
Those   crimson    lips   have   drained     the    lees   of 
Love 


1 88  FAUST  ACT  IV 

In  many  a  Stygian  stew :  yet  drink  again, 
My  master  holds  the  cup. 

Faust.  Nay,  let  her  pass; 

'Tis  not  so  fair. 
Mephistopheles.     Then    count    the    feast    as 
ended. 
Where  falls  thy  choice? 

Witch.  My  master,  wait  awhile. 

Yet  one  remains,  the  last  and  best  of  all. 
Mephistopheles.      Wretch,    wilt    thou    trick 

me? 
Witch.     Look  again  and  see. 

\The    Vision    of   Messalina   Jades    as    the 
Chorus  is  repeated. 


:.  I  FAUST  189 

Chorus 
The  Springtime  comes,  the  Springtime  goes, 
The  lily  changes  to  the  rose, 
Now  Spring  hath  fled, 
And  Summer  is  dead, 
And  dead  the  Lily !  and  dead  the  Rose  ! 

{During  the  Chorus  the  lonely  figure  of  Mar- 
garet  is   revealed   with    chains    about   her 
wrists,  her  dead  child  lying  at  her  feet. 
Mephistopheles.     [To    Witch.]    Foul    hag, 

I'll  scorch  thee ! 
Witch.  Master,  I  am  paid! 

[With  a  wild  yell  she  rises  into  the  air  and  van- 
ishes across  the  gulf. 
Faust.     Look !    it  is  Margaret !    What  to  me 
the  past? 


igo  FAUST  ACTiv 

What  any  queen  re-risen  from  the  grave  ? 
I  can  see  nothing  but  that  lovely  form. 
But  what  is  that  lies  frozen  at  her  feet? 
Mephistopheles.     What  lieth  at  her  feet  thou 

should'st   know, 
Faust.     Those    eyes    are    turned    upon    me ! 
Margaret,  stay! 
Across  the  gulf  of  Hell  I'll  fly  to  thee. 
Go,  bear  me  to  that  prison  where  she  lies, 
Her  anguish  is  my  anguish,  all  her  sin 
Is  mine  to  suffer,  ay,  or  mine  to  cure. 
To  her  !   to  her !   bear  me  away.     On  !    On ! 

[There  is  a  crash  of  thunder,  and  of  a  sudden 
the  gulf  swarms  with  Witches  who  shriek 
amidst  the  thunder  as  Faust  and  Mephis- 
TOPHELES  disappear. 


SCENE  II 

Scene.  —  A  prison  cell. 

[Margaret  is  lying  in  a  stupor  chained  on  a 

bed  of  straw  at  the  back.     The  sound  of  a  key 

in  the  lock  is  heard  and  Faust  and  Mephis- 

TOPHELES  enter. 

Mephistopheles.     See  !  there  she  lies !  Quick, 

rouse  her!    We  must  fly. 

Drugged  lies  the  jailer ;   but  I  cannot  say 

When  he  may  wake  and  blunder  on  us  here. 

Faust.     [Gazing  on  Margaret.]    The  woe  of 

the  whole  earth  catches  at  my  heart. 

And  then  !     Ah,  stand  and  roll  thy  devilish  eyes : 

This  is  thy  work !     Lo,  in  a  dungeon  shut, 

Delivered  up  to  torment  and  to  night! 
191 


192  FAUST  ACT  IV 

From  me  thou  hast  concealed  this  ruin,  me 
With  hollow  dissipations  hast  thou  lulled. 

Mephistopheles.     She's  not  the  first ! 

Faust.  Abortion  !     Not  the  first ! 

Did  not  the  first  in  her  death  agony 
Expiate  all  the  guilt  of  all  the  rest? 
Her  single  misery  to  my  marrow  pierces, 
And  thou  art  grinning  at  the  doom  of  thousands. 

Mephistopheles.     Why    dost    thou    make    a 
compact  with  the  Devil 
And  canst  not  see  it  out?     Did  I  on  thee 
Thrust  myself  ?    Come,  confess  !     Or  thou  on  me  ? 

Faust.     Rescue    her:    or  the  curse  of  ages  on 
thee ! 

Mephistopheles.     Rescue     her?     Who     then 
plunged  her  into  ruin  ? 


sc.  II  FAUST  193 

Whose  kisses  stretched  her  on  that  bed  of  straw  ? 
Whose  hot  embraces  cast  those  chains  on  her  ? 

[Faust  looks  wildly  round . 
Wilt  grasp  the  thunder?     Lucky  thou  canst  not. 
Faust.     She  shall  be  free ! 
Mephistopheles.  O   maudlin  murderer, 

Weep  over  thy  victim  sentimental  tears! 

Faust.     Free  her  —  or 

Mephistopheles.     Gently !  I  will  watch  without 
And  keep  the  jailer  mazed  in  a  deep  sleep, 
But  not  for  long !     Drag  her  away  with  thee. 
The  magic  steeds  are  ready.     Quick! 

Faust.  Begone ! 

[Exit  Mephistopheles. 

[Faust  approaches  Margaret,  who  starts  up 

dishevelled. 
o 


194  FAUST  ACT  IV 

Margaret.     Oh,  they  are  come    for    me !     O 

death  of  deaths ! 
Faust.     Margaret !    I   have   come   to   set   thee 
free  once  more. 
Come,  let  us  fly  —  give  me  your  hand,  come,  come. 
Margaret.     [Looking  at  him.]    Who  art  thou? 
Oh,  it  is  not  Morning  yet. 
Sir,  let  me  live  till  dawn  !     And  I  am  still 
So  young,  and  fair,  but  that  was  my  undoing. 

[Faust  seizes  the  chains,  endeavouring  to  un- 
lock them. 
What  have  I  done  to  thee  ?     Use  me  not  roughly  1 
Faust.     Margaret,    look    on    me !     I    am    thy 

lover. 
Margaret.     [Looking  earnestly  at  him.]    I  ne'er 
saw  thee  before  in  all  my  life. 


sc.  II  FAUST  I9S 

I  had  a  lover,  but  he's  far  away. 
Love,  did  I  weary  thee? 

Faust.  Can  I  outlive 

These  stabbing  words? 

Margaret.  Ah,  let  me  suckle  first 

My  baby :  but  they've  taken  it  away, 
And  thev  sing  songs  about  me  in  the  street. 
They  should  not  do  it. 

Faust.  I  love  thee  for  ever. 

Margaret.     See,  he  is  coming !     The  evil  one : 
Hell  heaves 
In  thunder  —  see,  he  makes  towards  his  prey. 
Faust.     Margaret ! 

Margaret.  Ah,  that  was  my  lover's  voice. 

Margaret!     So  now  in  the  howl  of  Hell 
Still  on  his  bosom  I  shall  lie  again. 


196  FAUST  ACT  IV 

'Tis  he  !     The  garden  once  again  I  see 

Where  thou  and  I  walked  up  and  down  in  bliss. 

Faust.  [Struggling  ivith  her. 

Come  !     Come  away ! 

Margaret.         Dost  thou  not  care  to  kiss  me? 
Once  didst  thou  kiss  as  thou  would'st  stifle  me. 

Faust.     Follow    me,    darling  —  oh,    delay    no 
more ! 

Margaret.     But  is  it  thou,  thou  surely? 

Faust.  It  is  I. 

Come,  come  away ! 

Margaret.  My   mother    I    have    killed 

But  out  of  love  for  thee  ! 

Faust.  Can  I  endure? 

Margaret.     The  baby  too,  our  baby,  I  have 
drowned. 


sen  FAUST  197 

Faust.     Oh,  swiftly,  swiftly  !  the  night  vanishes. 
Margaret.     It  tries  to  rise,  it  struggles  still; 

quick,  seize  it. 
Faust.     One  step  and  thou  art  free:    I    must 
use  force. 

\He  seizes  her  to  bear  her  away. 
Margaret.  Oh,  grasp  me  not  so  murderously,  sir. 
Faust.     Day  !   day  is  dawning. 
Margaret.  Yes,  'tis  the  last  day. 

Hark  to  the  crowd  !     They  push  me  to  the  block : 
Now  o'er  each  neck  the  blade  is  quivering 
That  quivers  over  mine !     Dumb  lies  the    world. 
[She  falls   back  on  his  arm. 
Faust.     God!     She    is   dying!     I    shall    never 
free  her. 

[Mephistopheles  enters  quickly- 


198  FAUST  ACT  IV 

Mephistopheles.     Fast,  fast !  to  all  love-mak- 
ing put  an  end, 
My  coursers  shiver  in  the  morning  air. 
Avi^ay ! 

Faust.       No  !      She     is     dying :      cold     she 

grows. 
Mephistopheles.     Leave  her  if    she  is  cold : 
no  moment  more. 

Faust.     I  will   not  —  cannot Margaret ! 

Margaret ! 
Mephistopheles.    Would'st  thou  die  with  her? 
Faust.  I  can  leave  her  not. 

Mephistopheles.     The  Uving  wait  thee !     Stay 

not  by  the  dead ! 
Faust.     Leave  me !    I  go  not ! 
Mephistopheles.         Come    to    fresher    faces, 


sen  FAUST  199 

Others  have  warm  blood  still. 

[Margaret  dies. 
Faust.  Ah  !  she  is  dead ! 

No  motion  :  chill  all  o'er ! 

Mephistopheles.  Faust,  wilt  thou  come? 

Faust.     Never ! 
Mephistopheles.     Farewell  then  1 

{Exit  Mephistopheles. 
[Faust  lays  her  reverently  on  the  bed,  composing 
her  limbs. 
Faust.  I  with  thee  must  die. 

For  I  am  fainting  with  thy  faintness,  I 
Am  going  with  thee  fast.     I  ebb  and  sink 
After  thee,  and  my  blood  thy  blood  pursues. 
Hath  thy  heart  stopped?     Mine  slow  and  slower 
beats. 


200  FAUST  ACT  IV 

Still  is  thy  pulse  ?     My  pulse  is  faltering  ! 
Where'er  thou  goest  I  with  thee  shall  go, 
Whether  thou  catch  me  into  highest  Heaven, 
Or  I  involve  thee  in  the  lowest  Hell. 
Margaret,  Margaret !   after  thee  I  come 
And  rush  behind  thee  in  thy  headlong  flight. 
Dim  grows  the  world. 

[Mephistopheles    appears   in   the   dress   he 
wore  in  the  Prologue. 

Is  this  the  film  of  death? 
Do  I  behold  thee,  Mephistopheles, 
Or  some  superior  angel?     Now  no  more 
The  sneering  smile  and  jaunty  step  I  see; 
I  feel  that  thou  art  Evil  yet  dost  wear 
Evil's  auguster  immortality. 
Sav  wherefore  art  thou  come  ? 


sc.  II  FAUST  20I 

Mephistopheles.  Remember,  Faust, 

Thy  compact.     Though  it  pleased  me  to  take  on 
A  lighter  shape  more  easily  to  lure  thee, 
Yet  know  I  am  that  Spirit  who  rebelled. 
With  whom  a  million  angels  mutinied. 
Behold  the  thunder-scar  and  withered  cheek ! 
With  me,  then,  was  thy  holy  compact  signed. 
Faust.      Though  I  should  die  yet   thou  canst 
fright  me  not. 
Even  from  thy  lips  shall  I  believe  the  tale 
Of  burning  coals  and  everlasting  fire 
And  all  the  windy  jargon  of  the  priests? 

Mephistopheles.     Far  other  is  that  Hell  where 
thou  shalt  live. 
As  I  did  serve  thee  faithfully  on  earth, 
Thou  faiihfullv  shalt  serve  me  after  death. 


202  FA  UST  ACT  IV 

Listen  1     On  dreadful  errands  shalt  thou  go, 
On  journeys  fraught  with  mischief  to  the  soul; 
Shalt  be  a  whisperer  in  the  maiden's  ears, 
Drawing  her  to  defilement  —  shalt  persuade 
The  desperate  to  self-slaughter,  thou  shalt  guide 
The  murderer  to  his  work,  thou  shalt  instil 
Into  the  child  its  first  polluting  thought, 
And  bring  to  the  world's  apple  many  an  Eve. 
In  taverns  shalt  thou  drink  invisibly 
Urging  the  drinkers  on,  and  thou  shalt  walk 
With  painted  women  to  and  fro  the  streets. 
So,  Faust,  shalt  thy  eternity  be  spent 
Seducing  and  polluting  human  souls, 
Purveying  anguish,  madness,  through  the  world. 
This  was  thy  compact:    this  shalt  thou  fulfil. 
Faust.    Horrible !    horrible  !    Yet  do  I  defy  thee. 


sen  FAUST  203 

Hast  thou  fulfilled  thy  promise,  brought  an  hour  — 
A  single  hour  —  to  which  I  could  cry  "Stay, 
Thou  art  so  fair"  ? 

Mephistopheles.     That  hour  shall  come; 
My  service  is  not  ended.     Countless  years 
Are  left  thee  yet  ere  life's  full  cup  be  drained. 
Up,  then,  and  on ! 

Faust.  Weary  and  stale  the  life 

Thou  gavest  me;  from  pleasure  hurled  to  pleasure, 
And  evermore  satiety  and  hate. 
Weary  and  stale  is  all  that's  yet  to  come. 
Though  countless  years,  chained  ever  at  thy  side. 
Be  still  my  doom,  my  spirit  newly  winged 
Outspeeds    the   flight    of   time.       That   flower    I 

crushed 
And  trod  beneath  my  feet,  see  where  it  springs 


204  FAUST  ACT  IV 

And  blooms  again  in  Heaven's  serener  air. 
Beyond  the  night  I  see  the  final  dawn 
Wherein  from  out  that  ruin  I  have  wrought, 
Purged  at  the  last,  my  soul  shall  win  its  way 
Whither  her  soul  hath  sped.     The  laggard  years. 
That  chain  me  prisoner  to  this  desert  earth, 
Though    in   their   sum   they  should  consume  all 

time, 
Were  all  too  short  for  what  is  left  to  do. 
Up,  then,  and  on  !     I  shall  abide  the  end; 
Still  I  fight  upward,  battle  to  the  skies, 
And  still  I  soar  for  ever  after  her. 
I  shall  go  past  thee,  Mephistopheles, 
For  ever  upward  to  the  woman  soul ! 
How  long?     How  long? 

[Rolling   clouds    ascend,   obscuring  the  stage, 


FAUST  205 

^mtU  the  First  Scene,  the  neutral  mountains, 
is  discovered  again.  During  the  change  a 
Chorus  of  invisible  Angels  is  heard  from 
above. 

Chorus 
All  the  unnumbered  years  of  man 

Count  not  against  thy  larger  day 
That  flushed  and  dawned  ere  time  began, 

And  still  runs  radiant  on  its  way. 

Onward  and  on  in  ceaseless  flight 

The  rolling  centuries  race  by, 
Onward  to  where  thy  torches  light 

The  threshold  of  Eternity. 

[When  the  scene  is  fully  revealed,  Margaret 
is  seen  lying  robed  in  white  at  the  feet  of 


2o6  FAUST  ACTiv 

Raphael,  the  Other  Angels    attending. 
Mephistopheles  remains  below. 
Mephistopheles.     Lo  !  on  this  neutral  ground 
I  reappear 
To  claim  of  the  Most  High  the  soul  of  Faust. 
Is  not  the  wager  won?     Have  I  not  drawn 
A  high  aspiring  spirit  from  his  height, 
Plunged  it  at  will  in  lust  and  wantonness? 
Hath  not  this  servant  of  the  King  of  Heaven, 
This  famous  Doctor,  proud  philosopher. 
Seduced  a  maiden  to  a  grave  of  shame, 
To  drug  her  Mother,  and  to  drown  her  Child? 
While  he  with  his  own  hand  her  Brother  slew? 
Have  I  not  now  reclaimed  a  soul  for  night? 
Have  I  not  now  the  great  world  wager  won? 
Answer ! 


sc.  II  FAUST  207 

[An  Angel  alights  on  the  topmost  peak  as  in 
the  Prologue. 
The    Angel.     The    great    world    wager    thou 
hast  lost, 
And,  seeking  to  confound,  hast  saved  a  soul. 
When  for  thine  own  ends  thou  didst  fire  his  heart 
For  Margaret,  and  inflamed  his  lustful  blood 
So  that  they  sinned  together,  yet  that  sin 
So  wrapped  them  that  a  higher,  holier  love 
Hath    sprung  from   it;    where  once    their  bodies 

burned 
Their  spirits  glow  together,  what  was  fire 
Is   light,    and    that   which    scorched    doth   kindle 

now. 
Thou,  thou  hast  sped  him  on  a  nobler  flight. 
Thou,  thou  hast  taught  him  to  aspire  anew, 


2o8  FAUST  ACT  IV 

Thou  through  the  woman  soul  hast  brought  him 

home. 

[Angels  are  seen  hearing  the  soul  of  Faust 
■upwards  towards  Margaret. 
Hither  the  spirit  angel-wafted  floats 
While  she  her  saving  arms  outspreads  to  him. 
Mephistopheles.     Still   to   the  same  result  I 

war  with  God: 
I  will  the  evil,  I  achieve  the  good. 

Curtain. 


PIETRO   OF   SIENA 

A  DRAMA 

BY 

STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 


CIL\RACTERS 


PlETRO   TORXIELLI 

LUIGI   GOXZAGA 

AXTONIO 

MONTANO 

Anselmo 

GlACOMO 

Ax  Executioner 

PULCI 

Carlo 

Gemma  Goxzaga 

FuLviA  Torxielli 

Caterixa 


( Head  of  the  ancient  and  exiled  house 
\      of  Tor  nielli 

{Head  of  the  rival  and  reigning  house 
\     of  Gonzaga 
Podesla  of  Siena 

SBoon    Companion   and   Jackal   to 
Pietro 
An  Aged  Warrior  devoted  to  the 

Torniclli 
Jailor  of  tlie  State  Prison 


■Personal  friends  of  Luigi 

Sister  to  Luigi 
Sister  to  Pietro 
An  Aged  Xurse  devoted  to  Gonzaga 


Officers,  Messexgers,  etc. 

The  action  of  the  play  is  confined  to  Siena  and  Jiei 
htween  the  hours  of  sunset  and  sunrise, 


ACT   I 

SUNSET 


PIETRO    OF    SIENA 

ACT  I 

Scene.  —  The  great  hall  of  the  ancient  palace 
of  the  Gonzaga.  At  either  end  stand  armed 
sentries.  In  the  centre  is  the  judgement  chair. 
On  the  rising  of  the  curtain  furious  shouts  are 
heard  without,  and  groiv  louder  at  times  as 
from  an  approaching  multitude,  and  the 
besieging  army  of  Pietro.  Luigi  is  dis- 
covered striding  to  and  fro  in  great  perplexity. 
His  friend  Pulci  is  watching  him  earnestly. 
The  time  is  sunset. 

Pulci.     Luigi,  go  forth,  and  show  thyself 
at  last  ! 


4  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Still  the  gate  holds ;    though  Pietro  Tornielli 
Three    times   in   vain   hath   shaken   it  —  Go 

forth ! 
He  makes  enough  of  clamour  and  of  din ; 
Thou  liest  like  a  rat,  unseen,  unheard  ; 
Whom  can  we  fight  for,  or  for  what  ?     Go 
forth  ! 
LuiGi.     No,   Pulci,  no  !     Pietro  Tornielli 
Advancing  takes  the  wind  from  all  my  sails. 
He  cows  me  from  afar,  and  quells  my  spirit, 
I  know  not  why  or  how  ;  but  I  am  quelled, 
Like  Enghsh  Richard  before  Bohngbroke. 
It  is  not  that  he  hath  more  wit  than  I, 
It  is  not  that  he  hath  more  will  than  I ; 
Only  that  on  this  man  success  attends. 
Where  I  am  foiled  and  thwarted,  he  goes  free. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  5 

Such    men    there    are,    and   what   they  will, 

they  grasp.  [A  louder  uproar  without. 

PuLCi.     This  is   the    sophistry    that    fears 

to  act. 
LuiGi.     [Pausing]    Think    with    what    in- 
juries this  man  comes  armed: 
He  comes  not  merely  to  supplant  my  rule, 
To  seat  himself  where  I  so  long  have  sat. 
But  furious  memory  smoulders  at  his  heart. 
Did  not  our  father  bear  his  mother  off, 
And  use  her  for  his  lust?  his  father  pined; 
And  kept  a  dreadful  silence  till  he  died. 
With    all    these    memories    this    man    comes 

fraught. 
And  thunders  an  avenger  at  our  gate. 

[A  sentinel  rushes  in  from  the  left. 


6  PIETRO   OF  SIENA 

Sentinel.    The  gate  has  been  surrendered  ; 
they  swarm  in ; 
And  hither  are  they  making  with  loud  cry! 
[A  cry  louder  and  nearer.    Enter  Gemma 
GoNZAGA,    hurriedly   and   terrified,    the 
nurse  Caterina  limping  behind. 
Gemma.    Luigi,    what    can   I   do   in    this 
dark  hour? 
How  aid  and  comfort  ?     Send  me  not  away  ! 
For  thou  and  I  have  grown  together  so 
We  may  not  be  divided  but  with  blood. 
Your  hopes,  your  thoughts  are  mine ;    your 

frailties  mine. 
Brother,  let  me  be  near  thee  in  the  storm. 
I  claim  its  lightnings  and  its  thunder  clasp. 
All,  send  me  not  away  !     I  put  my  arms 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  7 

About  you  as  of  old  :  now  come  what  will. 

[Sound  as  of  door  below  broken  open . 
LuiGi.     Sister,  they  come  !     This    scene    is 
not  for  thee  : 
Go  then  within  and  quietly  ;   I  alone 
Must    stand    upright  against    the    towering 
wave. 

[Exit  Gemma  and  Caterina. 
[Soldiers  enter  and  are  drawn  up  along 
the  walls  of  the  hall.     Then  enter  the 
Mayor   xA-NTONio,    surrounded   by   citi- 
zens   of  Siena,    a    Priest,   and,    lastly, 
PiETRO,  his  sister  Fulvia  following  him. 
PiETRO.     Luigi    Gonzaga,    I    might    well 
have  stormed 
Siena  gate  with  tiery  memories 


8  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

And  with  the  sword  of  vengeance  sought  thee 

out. 
Thy  father  with  hot  lips  kissed  out  the  soul 
Of  her  that  bore  me,  and  my  father  broke 
Down  to  the  ground  and  wrapped  in  mortal 

shame. 
I  say,  Gonzaga,  that  I  bear  enough 
Of  private  injury  to  spill  thy  blood. 
On  no  such  crimson  errand  am  I  sped, 
But  summoned  by  Siena's  citizens, 
Here  to  resume  the  sovereignty  possessed 
Erst  by  the  Tornielli :  and  to  purge 
The  city  of  thee  and  thy  iniquities. 

[He  ascends  the  judgement  chair,  motioning 
to  Antonio. 
Now  read  aloud  the  charges  'gainst  this  man. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  9 

Antonio.     [Reading].     "It  is  here  charged 
agamst  thee,  Luigi  Gonzaga,  that  thou  hast 
taken  bribes  to  set  aside  the  course  of  justice, 
whereof    many    instances    can    be    proven. 
Further  :  that  thou  hast  surrounded  thee  with 
a  troop  of  desperate  malcontents  whom  thou 
hast  paid  and  used  for  purposes  of  private 
quarrel.     Moreover,  that  two  famous  enemies 
of  thine  thou  hast  by  poison  taken  off,  having 
bidden  them  to  supper  here  in  this  palace. 
That   thou  hast  offered    to  spare  the  life  of 
Paolo    Gerli   if   his    daughter   would    deliver 
herself  to  thee  for  purposes  of  lust ;    though 
this   man    had    been    condemned    by   public 
tribunal    over    which     thou     didst     thyself 
preside.     And   many   other   counts   are   here 


lo  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

set  down  against  thee,  but  for  the  moment 
let  these  suffice." 

PiETRO.     Luigi  Gonzaga,  what  hast  thou 
to  say  ? 

Luigi.     All  that  is  charged  against  me  I 
confess. 

PiETRO.     Then,  for  these  violent  ills  a  vio- 
lent cure 
Demand,  and  a  swift,  instant  medicine  — 
I,  Pietro  Tornielli,  summoned  here 
To  adjudicate  upon  Siena's  wrong, 
Hereby  pronounce  upon  thee  doom  of  death  ! 
And  since  delays  in  these  distracted  streets 
Were  perilous  :  to-morrow  thou  shalt  die. 

[Writing]     I,  Pietro  Tornielli,  called  by  the 
people  of  Siena  to  heal  the  breach  and  woe  of 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  ii 

the  city,  do  hereby  commit  Luigi  Gonzaga, 
sometime  ruler  of  Siena,  to  prison  this  night 
to  the  intent  that  at  sunrise  to-morrow  he 
may  be  executed.     Given  by  me  this  day. 

PlETRO    TORNIELLI. 

Luigi.    At  sunrise  !    Ah,  not  death  !    Ah, 
not  so  soon  ! 
Let  me  still  watch  the  sun  thro'  prison  bars, 
And  manacled  behold  the  rising  moon. 
Ah,  send  me  not  from  glory  to  the  grave. 
I  promise  in  my  cell  I  will  not  stir 
All  day,  and  will  not  speak  even  to  myself, 
Or  murmur  an  angry  word  until  my  death  ; 
Ah,  hold  me.  Sir,  in  prison  till  I  die. 
How  can  I  trouble  thee  ;  none  breaks  away 
Or  bursts  that  massy  fortress.     Can  I  lead 


12  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Rebellion,  fettered  fast  and  deep  immured  ? 
Deliver  me  to  long  imprisonment ! 
Or  banish  me  an  exile  from  the  shore 
Of  Italy  for  ever  :  Let  me  roam 
The  limits  of  the  world  and  utmost  isles. 
Only  I  pray  thee  let  me  breathe  !     To  go 
For  ever  from  the  sun  !     I  care  not  what 
Of  heavy  misery  or  imprisonment 
Thou  mayest  inflict  if  only  I  may  live. 

[He  breaks  into  sobs. 
PiETRO.     Luigi  Gonzaga,  freely  thou  hast 

drunk 
The  purple  cup  of  life  ;  now  not  to  wince, 
To  beat  the  breast,  befits  thee  in  this  hour. 
Sweet  was  the  draught,   now  fling  the  cup 

away  ! 


PIETRO   OF  SIENA  13 

And  having  richly  lived,  so  strongly  die. 
Bear  him  away. 

LuiGi.  Sir  !     Sir  ! 

PiETRO.  Bear  him  away  ! 

[LuiGi  is  taken  off  between  two  guards,  four 
others  following. 

PiETRO.     [Rising.]     Now   for   the  moment 

nothing  more  detains  us. 
Anselmo.    [Coming  forward.]    Sir,  this  man 
whom  you  have  dispatched  to  die, 
A  sister  has  ;   and  though  the  rabble  rise 
Against  the  brother  for  his  many  crimes, 
She  may  untouched  through  all  Siena  pass, 
For  she  is  beautiful  and  still  and  pure. 
She  is  a  greater  peril  than  the  man, 


14  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

And  while  she  lives,  thy  throne  will  tremble 
still. 
PiETRO.     Is  she  within  the  palace  ? 
An  Attendant.  Sir,  she  is. 

PiETRO.     Send  for  her  hither. 

[Exit  Attendant. 
Anselmo.  In  this  warrant  add 

To  Luigi  Gemma,  to  the  brother's  name 
The  sister  ;  so  we  root  out  the  whole  house, 
No  son  nor  daughter  of  Gonzaga  lives 
Save  these;   then  make  an  end  and  sit  secure. 
[Enter  Gemma  escorted  hy  Attendants. 
PiETRO.     Art  thou  the  sister  of  Gonzaga  — 

say  ! 
Gemma.     I  am.  Sir. 
PiETRO.     He  hath  been  so  deeply  charged 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  15 

With  public  crime  and  private  injury. 
That  I,  called  in  to  judge  and  to  pronounce. 
To  prison  have  committed  him,  that  he 
May  die  to-morrow  at  sunrise. 

Gemma.  Ah,  no  ! 

Ah,  do  not  slay  him.     Wonderful  has  been 
The  love  between  us  —  and  so  soon  to  die  ! 
Why,  he  hath  but  a  few  brief  hours  to  pray  ; 
To  reconcile  him  with  eternal  God, 

Only  the  transit  of  a  summer  night. 

Oh,  Sir,  at  least  be  merciful  to  me  ! 

And  send  me  to  him  that  I  too  may  die. 

Let  me  not  wither  out  this  hollow  world 

Alone  ;  but  in  that  warrant  add  my  name 

To  his  ;  for  all  his  frailties  I  defend, 

In  all  his  acts  I  am  associate. 


1 6  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

I  would  give  up  the  very  ghost  in  me, 
And  my  dear  soul  would  put  in  pawn  for  him. 
Then  by  the  same  blow  let  the  sister  fall ! 
I  crave  to  die  with  the  first  light  of  dawn. 
Ah,  separate  us  not,  here  I  beseech  thee  ! 

[She  throws  herself  at  his  feet. 
Anselmo.     Enough  !     By  her  own  mouth 

she  merits  death. 
PiETRO.     [With  slow  hesitation.]     I  cannot 
—  for  the  moment  —  well  decide. 
[Angry  murmurs  from  Anselmo's  troops. 
That  I  have  doomed  her  brother  is  no  cause 
Why  her  too  I  should  doom  !     Is  it  supposed 
A  maiden,  but  a  year  ago  a  child, 
Could  of  his  crimes  and  bribes  be  cognizant  ? 
I  ask  you  all  —  were  it  not  well  to  pause  ? 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  17 

To  pause  for  a  few  hours,  and  hesitate 

Finally  to  pronounce  ?     What  thou  hast  said, 

Anselmo,  I  doubt  not  is  wise,  but  I 

A  little  leisure  must  demand  in  this. 

Lead  her  away  !        [To  Gemma.]     Ere  dawn 

thou  shalt  receive 
My  judgement.    [She  is  escorted  within]    Now, 
Sirs,  I  should  be  alone. 
[Exeunt  all  but  Anselmo,   Girolamo, 
FuLViA,  and  Montano. 
Anselmo.     Sir,  if  this  foolish  mercy  to  the 
house 
Which  hath  so  deeply  wronged  you,  be  dis- 
played, 
I  cannot  pledge  me  for  these  faithful  bands 
That  hitherto  have  followed  your  wild  star. 


1 8  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Sparing  his  sister's  life,  you  but  ascend 

A  trembling  throne,  for  men  who  hated  him 

Will  rally  to  her  face  as  to  a  flag. 

Ah,  God  !   'tis  the  old  weakness  of  the  blood. 

What  stopped  us  at  Ancona  ?  what  made  vain 

The  long  siege  of  Perugia  ?     Evermore 

A  woman's  face  hath  foiled  us.     Now  I  speak 

Once,  and  no  more.     Thy  followers  will  fall  off 

Being  again  deceived  ;   much  have  they  borne, 

But  more  they  will  not  bear. 

[Sullen  murmurs  are  heard. 

Strike  down  the  house. 

Strike  to  the  root  and  ere  the  night  be  passed. 

[Exit  Anselmo,  who  is  acclaimed   by  the 

troops  awaiting  him. 

GiROLAMO.     [Advancing.]    Pietro  Tornielli ! 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  19 

Thus  saith  Rome  : 
Let  none  of  the  Gonzaga  house  be  spared  ! 
Nor  man  nor  woman  :  end  the  pestilence 
That  brooded  o'er  Siena  all  these  years. 
If  thou  wouldst  rule  secure,  blot  out  the  brood 
That  are  anathema  to  Holy  Church  1 
If  a  fair  face  can  shake  thee  from  thy  seat, 
Look  not  to  Rome  1     Rather  be  thou  of  Rome 
Outlawed,  accursed.     So  speak  I,  and  depart. 
[Exit  GiROLAMO  with  attendant  Priests. 
FuLViA.     [Approaching  Pietro.]      Brother, 
what  hath  been  said  by  Holy  Church, 
Or  by  Anselmo  speaking  for  the  State, 
Is  well,  and  well  enough.     I  am  a  woman, 
And  cannot  easily  forget  the  shame 
Wrought  on  our  mother  by  their  father  ;  now 


20  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Comes  in  revenge  though  late,  and  justice  too. 
These  are  his    children,   his;    the  man  who 

wronged 
Her,  and  brought  down  our  father  to  his  grave. 
He  hath  left  issue  luckily,  for  us 
To  dash  our  ire  on,  let  his  children  die! 
Not  one,  but  both.     Have  we  not  waited  long  ? 
Have  I  not  in  my  pillow  set  my  teeth 
Through  the  grim  night  to  stop  these  mem- 
ories ? 
But  here  they  are  delivered  to  our  hands. 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  mother's  desperate  death, 
Hast  thou  forgot  the  pining  of  thy  Sire  ? 
Here  with  one  blow  we  clear  us  before  God 
That  she  in  that  sea- tomb  no  longer  toss 
Unsatisfied  ;   nor  he  call  from  the  ground. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  21 

Art  thou  the  victim  of  a  passing  face, 
Art  thou  the  helpless  spoil  of  shadowed  eyes  ? 
Art  thou  a  man,  or  but  a  drifting  leaf, 
Unworthy  to  be  served  or  followed  or  loved  ? 
If  that  pale  face  can  turn  thee  from  thy  wrongs, 
Or  a  low  voice  make  all  thy  vengeance  vain  ? 
I  leave  thee  therefore  to  the  blood  of  the  dead. 
This  must  thou  expiate  and  swift  and  sure. 

[Exit  FuLViA. 

Peetro.     Give  me  some  wine,   Montano  ! 
Oh,  Montano, 
The  fever's  in  my  blood  and  must  have  vent. 

Montano.     What  fever? 

PiETRO.  For  a  face  a  moment  since 

Sprung  like  a  sudden  splendour  on  the  dusk, 
Now  vanished  ;   for  a  voice  that  stole  on  us 


22  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Like  strings  from  planets  dreaming  in  faint 

skies, 
With  a  low  pleaded  music  ;  for  a  form 
Slight  and  a  little  bending  over  in  dew. 
This  night,  Montano,  in  this  coming  dark 
I  must  possess  her  ;  for  I  shall  not  sleep. 
Knowing  her  breathing  sweet  so  near  to  me. 
Here  in  this  palace  ;  no  !  nor  shall  I  drowse 
Until  I  clasp  her  fast  and  kisses  rain 
Upon  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  brow,  her  hair. 
Montano.     Sir,  you  well  know  I  serve  your 

every  mood. 
But  here,  is  not  the  game  too  perilous  ? 
Here  on  the  very  first  night  of  your  rule 
To  seize  Gonzaga's  sister,  he  meanwhile 
Purposely  prisoned  —  ah,  so  they  will  say  — 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  23 

So  that  he  may  not  mar,  nor  intervene. 
Let  policy  propose  some  slower  way. 

PiETRO.     No!    No!     Such  beauty  must  be 
stormed,  not  snared, 
Caught  up  and  kissed  into  oblivion, 
To  saddle  hoist,  and  through  the  world  away, 

MoNTANO.     I  scent  a  way  by  which  she 
might  be  won 
And  without  force,  and  on  this  very  night. 

PiETRO.     How  ?     how  ? 

MoNTANO.         Her  brother  Luigi  at  sunrise 
To-morrow,  perishes  ;  now  he  to  her 
Is  more  than  just  a  brother  ;   they  have  lived 
Even  from  the  cradle  a  life  intertwined. 
Remember  but  the  burning  words  of  her  ! 
"  I  would  give  up  the  very  ghost  of  me, 


24  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

And  my  dear  soul  would  put  in  pawn  for 
him." 

PiETRO.    Well  —  well  — 

MoNTANO.     The  dawn  will  come  soon,  all 
too  soon 
For  her  ;  but  were  it  breathed  into  her  ear, 
That  for  her  beauty  thou  wouldst  spare  his  life, 
Would  not  her  deep  love  to  thy  arms  consent  ? 
As  slowly  all  the  sky  grows  lighter  still, 
And  Luigi's  blood  is  on  the  morning  cloud. 
Will  she  not  for  her  brother  give  herself 
To  thee,  and  in  thy  clasp  forget  the  dawn  ? 

PiETRO.     See,  see  her  ;  with  the  nurse  nave 
first  a  word, 
That  she  may  sound  her  warily.     But  haste  ! 
Darkness  already  closes  on  us  two, 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  25 

And  if  I  have  my  will  'twill  be  ere  dawn. 
Speed,  speed  away,  Montano,  be  thou  swift ! 
And  I  with  every  flower  will  fill  the  room, 
With  fume  of  lilies  and  raptures  of  the  rose, 
And  odours  that  entice  the  drowsing  brain. 
And  far-off  music  melting  on  the  soul. 
At  once  away  till  thou  hast  news  of  her. 

[Exit  Montano. 
Come,  night,  and  falling  give  her  to  my  arms. 
What  fools  are  they  that  use  thee  but  for  sleep  ; 
Come  and  enfold  us  in  the  dark  of  bliss  ! 


ACT   II 
MIDNIGHT 


SCENE  I 

Scene.  —  Midnight.  A  dark  part  of  the  gar- 
dens of  the  palace;  various  followers  of 
Anselmo  assembled  with  torches.  To  them 
enter  Anselmo  with  four  followers,  also 
carrying  torches. 

Anselmo.     Comrades,  to  this  dark  garden, 

and  in  night 
I  have  swiftly  summoned  you  :    you  all  well 

know 

That  I  have  followed  Tornielli's  star, 

Howe'er  it  wavered  in  the  heavens  ;  and  you 

How  often  have  I  led  to  the  desperate  breach, 
29 


30  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Or  to  that  timely  charge  which  all  decides. 

And  yet  you  can  recall  that  oftentimes 

Here  were  we  foiled,  or  here  :   and  this  the 

cause, 
Ever  a  woman's  face  Pietro  marred. 
The  weakness  in  his  blood  undid  our  toil. 
Now  at  Siena,  crown  of  all  our  hopes, 
And  destined  to  the  Tornielli  rule, 
When  vengeance  is  demanded,  he  falls  short ; 
And  cannot  lift  his  hand  against  the  face. 
Too  beautiful,  of  Luigi's  sister.     Him 
Easily  he  condemned  to  die  at  dawn. 
Yet  he  would  not  complete  the  task  imposed. 
He  wavers  through  the  night,  and  will  not  act. 
Now  none  hath  been  more  faithful  to  his  star 
Than  I,  but  I  that  star  will  follow  not 


PIETRO   OF  SIENA  31 

If  at  the  supreme  hour  we  must  be  fooled. 
You  as  you  please  will  act :  but  now  no  more 
Lean  upon  me  to  lead  you  as  of  old. 

A  Soldier.     I  will  speak  bolder  than  our 
Captain.     What 
If  he  should  be  persuaded  by  this  girl 
To  spare  the  brother's  life  ?     [Angry  murmurs.] 

How  do  we  stand  ? 
Were  ever  soldiers  on  such  errand  fooled  ? 
I  say  that  on  this  very  night,  perhaps, 
While  here  we  stand,  she  hath  persuaded  him 
To  cancel  the  decree  of  death  at  dawn. 
So  is  our  march,  our  battery,  our  spoil 
Made  vain  for  ever  :  who  henceforth  will  trust 
A  ruler  palpably  to  beauty  weak, 
At  mercy  of  red  lips  and  drooping  eyes  ? 


32  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Shall  this  man  rule  Siena  ?     Never  man 

In  all  Siena  will  to  this  consent. 

Pietro  Tornielli  can  fight  well, 

Is  not  in  courage  backward,  but  this  fault 

Will  leave  him  unsupported  and  alone. 

[Angry  shouts  and  murmurs. 
Anselmo.     Friends,  let  us  see  what  darkness 
brings  to  light. 
If  then  my  apprehension  be  revealed. 
Or  worse,  our  comrades'  fear  ;  at  least  at  dawn 
Let  us  assemble  here  :    with  knowledge  then 
We  our  own  way  can  take,  e'en  tho'  it  be 
To  assault  the  palace  and  slay  Pietro.     Speak  ! 
Is  this  agreed  ?     [Shouts.     All  drawing  swords. 
Anselmo,  'tis  agreed. 
[The  scene  closes.] 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  33 

SCENE   II 

Scene. — An  inner  room  of  the  palace;  imth 
a  door  communicating  imth  a  further  room, 
which  is  closed.  A  lamp  is  burning  on 
the  table.  The  old  nurse  Caterina  is 
seated  near  the  window  with  bowed  head  and 
in  deep  grief.  A  knock  is  heard  at  the  door. 
She  hobbles  toward  it,  and  opening  it  admits 

MONTANO. 

MoNTANO.     Signora  Caterina  ? 

Caterina,  That  is  I. 

MoNTANO.      I   see    that   you    are    broken 

down  with  grief. 

Give  me  your  hand.  [He  leads  her  to  a  seat. 

The  reason  of  these  tears 


34  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Is  easily  guessed.     Luigi  Gonzaga  dies 
With  the  first  flush  of  day.    This  is  the  cause  ? 
Caterina.     Ah,  sir,  if  my  own  son  had  then 

to  die 
I  could  not  sufifer  more.     I  have  no  son  ; 
But  he  took  on  him  all  the  unborn  child, 
That  never  quickened  in  the  might  have  been. 
I  have  watched  him  as  a  gardener  does  a 

flower, 
And  seen  him  slowly  grow  into  his  strength. 
Ah,  who  can  say  I  had  not  pangs  from  him. 
What  he  hath  done  I  know  not  to  deserve 
So  swift  a  death  ;  only  that  he  must  die 
I  know.  [She  breaks  again  into  sobs. 

MoNTANO.     You  know  not  yet.     I  bring 

a  hope. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  35 

Caterina.     Oh,  that  he  may  be  saved,  may 
be  released  ! 
Sir,  do  not  trifle  with  a  soul  so  old, 
Or  play  with  cracking  heart-strings  ! 

MoNTANO.  I  will  not. 

I  come  from  Pietro  Tornielli  straight. 
Where  is  your  mistress  ? 

Caterina.  Dumb,  and  as  the  dead, 

Within  she  sits,  fixed  on  the  coming  day. 
MoNTANO.     She,  she  alone  can  save  him  if 

she  will. 
Caterina.     [Stumbling  to  inner  door.]    Ah, 

Gemma,  Gemma  ! 
MoNTANO.     [Taking  her  arm.]    Peace,  and 
sit  you  down. 
To  you  I'll  tell  the  terms  of  his  release, 


36  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

You  then  to  her  ;  and  she  shall  then  decide. 
Caterina.     Terms  !  but  there  are  no  terms 
She  will  not  give. 
Life  even  ! 

MoNTANO .     Perhaps  a  harder  thing  is  asked . 
Caterina.     Harder  than  Hfe  !     What  is  so 

dear  as  breath  ? 
Montano.     To  a  woman  one  thing  only. 

[A  pause. 

Caterina.  Still  I  grope 

In  darkness.     WTiat  can  Gemma  give  more 

dear 
Than  very  Ufe  ? 
Montano.         More  dear  ?   her  very  soul. 
Caterina.     I  seem  to  guess  more  clearly 
now.     You  mean  — 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  37 

MoNTANO.     I  mean  —  for  the  night  passes, 
and  already 
Is  Uttle  time  for  words  —  Lord  Tornielli 
Will  spare  the  life  of  Luigi  but  to  hold 
His  sister  in  his  arms  this  very  night. 
Am  I  now  plain  enough  ? 

Caterina.  Aye  —  plain  enough! 

Had  it  been  life  — 

MoNTANO.  It  is  not  Hfe  he  asks. 

Caterina.     Oh,  what  a  dreadful  choice  ! 

MoNTANO.  Yet  on  these  terms. 

And  these  alone  can  Luigi's  life  be  spared. 

Caterina.     She  will  not  do  it,  never,  never, 
never  ! 

MoNTANO.     Still  lay  the  chance  before  her: 
see  you  how 


38  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Already  the  stars  pale  ;   the  time  is  short. 
He  from  his  dungeon  watches  how  they  pale. 
You  as  a  woman  to  another  may, 
With  what  authority  and  wisdom  else 
May  prompt,  disclose,  and  may  at  last  per- 
suade. 
I'll  leave  you  to  her  —  then  I  will  return 
To  know  her  verdict  on  her  brother's  life. 

[Going,  then  returning. 
Remember  paling  stars  and  coming  sun  ! 

[Exit  MONTANO. 

Caterina.     Ah,  God  !  must  I,  this  old  and 
shrunken  voice 
Use  to  persuade  her  white  soul  to  this  act  ? 
She  hath  been  filled  with  pity  for  the  fallen. 
Yet  with  that  pity  hath  so  loathed  the  cause. 


PIETRO  OF  SI  EX  A  39 

So  innocent  and  yet  so  understanding, 

She  hath  been  so  gentle  to  those  sinners,  yet 

Sick  with  abhorrence  but  to  think  their  sin. 

But,  Luigi,  any  sacrifice  for  thee  ! 

Gemma,  my  child,  Gemma.     [She  goes  to  door. 

I  must  have  word 
A  moment  with  you. 
[Enter  Gemaia  white  and  with  a  fixed  movement. 

One  has  left  me  but 
A  moment,  who  brought  word  from  TornieUi. 
Gemma.     No  word  can  ever  reach  my  ear 

but  one. 
And   that  one   ''death,"   "death,"   "death" 

for  evermore. 
Caterina.     Gemma,  sit  here,  and  I  will 

kneel  and  lay 


40  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

My  old  face  in  your  lap. 

Gemma.  As  I  how  oft 

Have  laid  my  face,  old  nurse,  down  in  your 

lap, 
Dreaming,  to  hear  thee  tell  of  fairyland. 
But,  ah,  no  fairyland  is  with  us  now  ! 
But    hfe,    how    grey    and    cruel  —  ah,    and 
death ! 
Caterina.     Do   not    start    from    me,    nor 
fall  swooning  down. 
At  that  I  have  to  say  —  Luigi  — 

Gemma.  O  listen ! 

Do  you  not  hear  the   stones  down   on  him 
falling  ? 
Caterina.     It  is  not  yet  resolved  that  he 
shall  die. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  41 

Gemma.     What,  what  I     Have    I    gripped 
your  arm  too  fast  ?     Yet  speak  ! 
This  is  some  foolish  comfort,  shallow  thought, 
To  ease  me  for  a  moment.     Why,  I  heard 
Pietro  Tornielli  —  and  to  me 
He  spoke  —  declare  aloud  the  doom  of  death, 
Caterina.     He  did  so  ;  but  he  may  repent 

him  yet. 
Gemma.     But  what  hath  chanced  in  these 
brief  hours  to  change 
A  state  decree  ?     How  is  he  sudden  white 
Who    then    so    black    was,  —  hath    he    been 

re-tried 
All  in  a  moment?     Ah,  toy  not  with  hope. 
Caterina.     I  tell  you,  Luigi's  life  may  yet 
be  spared. 


42  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Gemma.     By  whom  then,  how  ?     Who  holds 

the  scales  so  fine  ? 
Caterina.     You  ! 
Gemma.     [Starting  up.]    I !    How  should  I 

save  him  ? 
Caterina.        Can  you  not 
A  little  guess  and  save  my  speech  o'er-rough  ? 
Did  you  not  mark  then  Tornielli's  glance  ? 
How  in  his  speech  he  stumbled,  while  on  you 
His  eyes  were  anchored?    how,  alarmed,  his 

host 
Cried  out  against  delay  and  for  thy  life  ? 
Gemma.     [Passing  her  hand  over  her  brow.] 

Yes,  I  remember  his  eyes  fixed  on  me. 
Caterina.     Now  can  you  not  conceive,  and 
reaHse  ? 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  43 

And  I  my  face  will  turn  away  from  you. 
Gemma.     Oh,    now    I    see,    and    but    this 

moment  since. 
I  have  gulped  down  such  a  draught  of  this 

world's  cup 
As  leaves  me  shivering,  and  to  wind  exposed. 
This  was  the  plan,  then  ;  like  a  beast,  not  man. 
He  would  ensnare  me  for  a  fleshy  hour, 
Baiting  the  trap  even  with  a  brother's  life. 
You  know,  my  Caterina,  well  you  know 
How  I  have  loved  my  brother.  If  'twere  death, 
That  I  would  gladly  suffer  ;  to  expire, 
And  lose  the  sweet  and  music  of  this  life, 
All  joy  for  ever  to  forego  —  for  him, 
Or  if  I  must  be  stabbed,  or  poisoned  —  yes. 
But  this  — not  this  !     He  is  not  such  a  coward 


44  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

That  he  would  put  his  Hfe  into  the  scales 
Against  his  sister's  shame.     I  will  not  do  it. 
Oh,  ah  the  stars  that  muster  in  the  heaven 
Would  cry  on  me  with  voices  like  to  beams, 
More  awful  in  their  silence  to  the  soul. 
I  tell  you,  No,  No  !      And  what  more  repels 
My  soul  is  this  —  a  trap  laid  for  my  soul. 
Again  I  say,  baited  with  brother's  blood  ! 
I  hate  this  man,  I  hate  the  mind  that  thought 
This  business  out,  this  trader  of  the  dark. 
This  burning  merchant  for  a  maiden's  soul. 
What  should  I  be,  old  Caterina,  what 
For  ever  and  for  ever  ?     They  who  went 
To  flame  for  faith,  they  went  not  for  this  cause, 
And  out  of  scorching  flesh  deserved  the  stars. 
The  girl  who  yields  beneath  a  summer  moon. 


PIETRO  OF  SIEXA  45 

That  I  can  understand,  but  never  a  true  woman 
Made  bargain  with  her  body  such  as  this. 
There  is  my  answer,  now  and  for  all  time. 
Caterina.     Child,    though    I   know   what 

sickens  in  your  soul, 
Still,   when    all's    said    or    thought,    is't    not 

enough 
To  bring  back  Luigi  from  the  grave  ?     At  dawn 
Surely  he  dies.     I  as  a  woman  speak, 
Let  this  man  vent  his  riot ;  let  the  fool 
Have  his  hot  way,  and  suffer  his  embrace! 
Yours  is  the  laugh  by  daybreak,  and  for  ever. 
Think,  then,  of   Luigi  freed  !     The  world  is 

wrong, 
None  catch  perfection  ;    save  your  brother's 

Ufe, 


46  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Spending  an  hour  within  those  silly  arms  ! 
What  are  his  kisses,  if  the  grave  is  foiled  ? 
Gemma.     You,    you   persuade   me    to   it? 
You  who  nursed 
Both  of  us  ;  why  is  it,  then,  that  a  nurse  holds 
Dearer  the  boy  than  the  girl  ?     he  must  be 

spared, 
She  never  ! 

Caterina.     What  you  do  you  do  not  do. 
Gemma.     Ah,  woman,  but  our  bodies  are 
our  souls ! 

[Enter  Montano. 
MoNTANO.     Ah,  Signorina  ?      Straightway 
from  my  lord, 
Pietro  Tornielli,  I  have  come, 
In  the  strong  hope  that  you  will  speak  to  him. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  47 

Gemma.     What    use    so    to    pretend,    and 
gloze  the  truth  ? 
You  know  well  why  this  gentleman  desires 
To  see  me  ;  on  this  errand  you  are  sent. 
Take  back  my  answer,  then  :  I  will  not  come. 
I  loved  and  love  my  brother,  but  he  must  die. 

MoNTANO.     Is  he  so  well  prepared  ?    And 
can  he  launch 
On  such  a  voyage  ?    WTiat  has  been  his  life  ? 
His  pubhc  faults  this  day  were  charged  on  him: 
None  of  them  he  denied.     His  private  lusts 
Are  through  Siena  sounded  pubUcly. 
You,  you  alone  cast  his  immortal  soul 
Before  the  conscious  Judge,  unripe  and  crude, 
You,  you  alone  can  stay  that  dread  assize. 

[The  hour  slrikcs  midnight. 


48  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

The  night  wears  out :    and  hearken  how  the 

gong 
With  solemn  syllables  divides  the  night ! 
He  hears  them  from  the  dungeon,  stroke  on 

stroke. 
What  is  thy  hour  to  his  eternity  ? 
Gemma.     Dead  mother,  tell  me  ! 
Caterina.  She  to  whom  you  cry 

Remember  was  his  mother  — 
Gemma.  I  will  come. 

[She  takes  down  an  old  dagger  from  the 
wall  and  hides  it  in  her  bosom  secretly. 
Caterina.     See,  let  me  set   this  red  rose 

on  your  breast. 
Gemma.     Yes,  yes,  it  is  the  colour  of  his 
blood. 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  49 

[MoNTANO  motions  the  way  out  and  he 
and  Gemma  exeunt. 
Caterina.     Oh,  only  for  his  life  !  for  the 
boy's  life  ! 
Virgin  in  heaven,  forgive  me  if  I  sinned  ! 


SCENE  III 
Scene.  —Another  room  in  the  palace;  distant 
music  is  heard,  and  various  flowers  are  set 
about.  PiETRO,  turning  from  giving  di- 
rections, ?neets  Montano,  who  ushers  in 
Gemma,  then  immediately  retires. 

PiETRO.    Ah,  Signorina,  you  are  come  at 

last! 

Gemma.     I  have  come  as  one  adorned  for 

sacrifice, 

Nothing  omitted  ;   and  this  red  flower  see. 

The  symbol  of  a  brother's  blood  ! 

PiETRO.  You  think 

Too  gravely. 

50 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  51 

Gemma.        Oh,  too  gravely  ? 
Peetro.  We  must  take 

What  chance  we  can  when  beauty  is  the  goal. 
Gemma.    You  think,  then,  that  this  lure  is 

clever  ? 
PlETRO.      No. 

But   by  your  face    all    right  and  wrong   is 

dimmed. 
Gemma.     This  is  the  game ;    the  stakes,  a 

brother's  life 
And  a  girl's  soul ;    with  these,  then,  you  can 

play. 
PiETRO.   I  see  my  chance  but  as  a  gambler 

sees. 
Gemma.     You  play  with  loaded  dice,  and 

human  too. 


52  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Listen  !     I  have  come  here  to  give  myself 
To  you  to  snatch  a  brother's  life ;  but  think  ! 
Do  I  now  for  a  moment  give  myself  ? 
I  give  you  ice  for  fire,  and  snow  for  flame ; 
Your    touch    I    loathe,    and    shudder    to    be 

touched  ; 
Your  kisses  have  no  sweetness  but  for  him. 
I  but  endure,  and  listen  for  the  dawn  ; 
And  when  you  clasp  me   to  your   breast,  I 

see 
Behind  your  phantom  face  a  rising  sun. 
You  shadow !    murmur,   kiss,   do  what   you 

will, 
I  have  forgotten  you  for  evermore  ! 
You  ghost,  with  but  the  vantage  of  the  grave, 
O  lover  with  cold  murder  on  your  lips, 


PIETRO  OF  SI  EX  A  53 

Bridegroom  whose  gift  is  blood,  whose  dower 

is  death  ! 
Ah,  what  a  tryst !    What  moonhght  ever  saw 
Such  a  forbidden  rapture  as  is  this  ? 
Then  take  me  in  your  arms,  but  never  me  ! 
Or  kiss  these  hps  where  hps  have  ceased  to 

move. 
Fool,  can  you  understand  in  your  wild  blood 
That  never  shall  you  reach  me  on  these  terms  ? 
How  can  you  drink  my  beauty,  if  no  soul 
Makes  the  draught  live  ?     You  bargain  for  a 

bliss, 
But  no  bliss  from  a  bargain  ever  came. 
That  bhss  may  be  too  sudden,  may  be  slow, 
Howe'er  it  come  ;  but  it  is  thoughtcn  wise, 
Not  planned,  not  calculated  ;  be  it  sin 


54  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Or  fire  of  angels,  not  this  way  it  comes, 
Nor  ever  hath  :  now  to  thy  lips  I  yield 
My  own,  but  with  a  cold  laugh  in  my  soul, 
Or  else  in  dreadful  thought  thy  kiss  I  take. 
Now  thou  art  master  ;  thy  brief  hour  demand  ! 
But  had  I  loved  thee,  Pietro,  not  this  way 
Would  I  have  clasped  thee,  but  in  sacred  fire, 
And  then  shouldst  thou  have  tasted  of  deep 

life; 
Then  not  of  flesh  but  of  the  endless  soul. 
But  since  this  is  so  and  this  world  endures, 

[Taking  the  dagger  from  her  breast. 

Let  Luigi  die  !  let  him  cease  !  and  I  with  him. 

Pietro.     [Snatching    the    dagger  from    her 

hand.]     Gemma   Gonzaga,   can  you    not 

believe 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  55 

Your  words  have  shaken  into  me  a  soul  ? 
What  was  a  furious  sport  proposed,  is  now 
The  mighty  meaning  of  a  changed  life. 
Oh,  it  is  true,  most  true,  that  I  had  planned 
To  use  the  seat  of  justice  for  thy  lips. 
So  have  I  loved  :  not  here  nor  there  alone. 
But  everywhere  pursuing  my  own  prey. 
So  have  I  foiled  my  soldiers,  and  made  vain 
Cities  besieged,  for  lure  of  some  fair  face. 
But  now  your  revelation  breaks  on  me  ; 
Even  your  sneer  sublime  and  starry  scorn 
Has  taken  from  my  feet  the  under- world. 
I  would  be  what  you  say  I  cannot  be  : 
Not  with  the  ape-like  wooing  as  of  old. 
But  as  a  spirit  suing  thee  through  stars. 


56  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Gemma,  here  I  discard    the    "whence"  we 

came, 
And  I  pursue  the  "whither"  we  are  bound. 
I'll  lose  thee  not  through  too  much  lust  of  thee  ; 
Now  if  thou  wouldst,   I  would  not  what  I 

dreamed. 
I  see  a  distant  pleasure  deeper  far, 
For  —  if  you  will,  I'll  wed  you  without  pause  ; 
And  with  the  light  of  children's  faces  we. 
Not  worse  for  this  encounter,  will  deserve 
The  falling  sunset  and  the  coming  star,. 
And  you  perhaps  shall  smilingly  recall 
This  plunge  for  beauty  which  hath  ended  sweet. 
Say,  will  you  wed  me  — •  kiss  me  and  speak  not. 
Gemma.     I  say  no  word  but  give  to  you  my 

lips. 


PIETRO  OF  SIEXA  57 

But  ah,  my  brother  !  faint  the  dawn  comes  on, 
But  it  is  dawn. 

PiETRO,  [Sounding  gong  and  writing.]  Re- 
lease on  the  instant  Luigi  Gonzaga,  imprisoned 
by  my  order  in  the  prison  of  Faenza. 

(Signed)  Pietro  Tornielli. 
[A  servant  enters. 
Ride  with  this  and  ride  fast. 
[Exit  servant  with  the  written  order. 
Now  comes  the  golden  morning  on  us  two, 
And  never  a  drop  of  dew  that  she  bestows 
Is  like  unto  that  dew  that  falls  from  you. 
Here  is  my  fury  ended  and  wild  hours. 

Gemma.     I  love  you  more  than  if  your  suit 
had  been 
Pale,  without  fault,  for  I  believe  that  he 


S8  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Who  once  has  wrongly  burned  can  change 

that  fire 
Into  a  radiance  but  to  spirits  clear. 

[He  kisses  her  as  the  curtain  descends. 


ACT   III 

SUNRISE 


SCENE  I 

Scene.  —  The  prison  of  Faenza;  LuiGi  alo7te. 
The  dawn  is  approaching. 

LuiGi.     The  dawn,  the  dawn  !     Now  when 

all  wakes  to  life, 
I  wake  to  death.     When  all  revives,  I  die. 
This  freshness  and  the  coming  colour  make 
The  faint  grave  worse.   Oh,  but  to  die  at  dawn  ! 
At  midnight,  yes  !    but  not  when   the  world 

stirs, 
When  the  Creator  reassures  the  earth, 
And  reappears  in  balm  out  of  the  East. 

Now  I  must  gi\-e  up  life,  now  when  the  bird 

6i 


62  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Resumes  its  carol  and  the  old  music  makes, 
Now  must  I  go  to  silence  ;  never  there 
The  twitter  of  the  brown  bird  in  the  leaves, 
Nor  rustle  of  foliage  there,  nor  flushing  sky. 

[He  rises  and  walks  restlessly  to  and  fro. 
Now  the  bright  river-fish  leaps  to  the  light, 
Now  creatures  of  the  field  bestir  them,  and 

speak 
With  mellow  sound  in  twilight  of  the  farm, 
And  shrilly  Chanticleer  proclaims  the  day. 
Now  the  rose  lifts  her  from  a  weight  of  dew, 
Or  raises  her  red  bosom  from  the  rain, 
And  many  a  pale  flower  from  dark  ground  re- 
vives. 
Not  far  away,  so  little  a  space  away, 
Many  a  garden  freshened  by  night's  cloud, 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  63 

Suspires  its  various  odours  from  the  earth, 

And  Nature  sighing  from  good  sleep  awakes. 

The  sea  is  conscious  of  the  invisible  orb, 

Revisiting  in  glory  her  faint  flood. 

The  stars  are  gone,  and  balm  breaks  on  the 

world. 

[He  sits  again. 

And  in  this  moment  I  must  yield  my  breath. 

[Starting  up  again. 
And  now  not  only  Nature  shakes  off  sleep, 
But  now  the  labourer  to  the  field  repairs 
To  dig  the  sweet  earth,  or  to  clip  the  hedge, 
Or  through  the  furrow  follow  on  the  plough. 
Now  wakes  the  young  wife,  and  but  half-awake 
Kisses  the  dreaming  babe  beside  her  laid. 
While  all  her  deep  heart  murmurs  in  its  ear. 


64  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

The  soldier  starts  up  to  the  trumpet-call ; 
The    shopman    takes    the    shutter    from    the 

shop, 
And  in  the  window  carefully  displays 
His  wares  ;    the  trim  girl  unto  market  trips ; 
And  many  a  memory  stares  up  at  the  sun. 
And  he  who  rides,  and  would  the  morning  take, 
To  saddle  springs,  or  he  the  morning  dew 
On  foot  meets  gladly  ;   sweetly  comes  the  day 
To  the  sea-weary,  watchers  stung  with  brine  ; 
News  of  the  absent  to  the  bed  is  brought, 
Letters  from  children  in  a  world  far-off. 
And  whether  sad  or  sweet  the  world  awake 
Whirls  with  a  million  graves  about  the  sun. 
Life,  life  begins  !     And  I  this  hour  must  die. 
[Still  walking  to  and  fro. 


PIETRO  OF  SIEXA  6$ 

And  who  knows  that  we  cease  who  seem  to 

cease  ? 
If  I  must  answer,  ere  the  dawn  is  full, 
For  all  my  faults  and  folly,  and  to  whom  ? 
Haled  before  him  who  made  us,  or  to  view 
A  heavy  river  rolling  amid  souls, 
Or  to  remember  in  an  outer  dark  ? 
Life  I    life  I     I  cannot  die,  I  dare  not  die, 
And  yonder  cloud  is  slowly  reddening  ! 
She,  too,  she  comes  not,  though  she  heard  my 

fate  ; 
I  am  by  all  deserted  and  bereft. 
0  Gemma,  sister,  you,  you  then  at  least 
Might  for  the  last  time  round  me  throw  your 

arms, 
Giving  the  extreme  kiss  before  my  doom  ; 


66  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

But  I  must  go  to  what  I  fear  alone. 

[A  knock  is  heard  at  the  door.     Enter  the 
Jailor,  accompanied  by  the  Execu- 
tioner and  an  Assistant. 
Jailor.     Luigi  Gonzaga,  are  you  now  pre- 
pared ? 
Or  will  you  see  a  priest,  and  in  his  ear 
Confess  and  with  a  lighter  bosom  die  ? 
Luigi.     Is  not  my  sister  here  ?   has  she  not 
sent 
A  word,  a  little  word  ?     I  cannot  think 
That  she  will  let  me  die  in  such  a  silence. 
Jailor.     She  is  not  here,  and  she  has  sent 

no  word. 
Luigi.     Oh,  but  she  might !     It  is  not  yet 
too  late. 


PIETRO  OF   SI  EX  A  67 

Give  me  a  little  more  of  time  to  breathe  ; 
She  would  not  let  me  perish  who  so  long 
Has  grown  with  me  and  loved  me  :   I  but  ask 
A  little  space  to  see  her  once,  or  hear 
Her  voice:  —  is  this  unnatural  ?   If  'twere 
One  to  whom  passion  drew  me.  even  thus 
Leave  would  be  given,  but  my  sister,  sure 
You'll  not  refuse  to  me  a  brief  delay? 

Jailor.     I  have  no  order,  and  I  have  no 
leave 
To  grant  delay  :  immediate  is  my  task, 
And  theirs  who  now  await  you. 

LuiGi.  Grant  me  then 

A  cup  of  wine  :   this  is  allowed  ;   then,  then 
I'll  make  no  more  delay  :  a  cup  of  wine, 
The  last  cup ! 


68  PIETRO   OF  SIENA 

Jailor.     You  shall  have  this  ;  but  no  more 
Then  can  you  tarry,  or  by  force  we  bear  you 
To  execution.     [To  Assistant.]     Fetch  a  cup 
of  wine.  [Exit  Assistant. 

LuiGi.     I  cannot  thirds  why  Gemma  all  this 
while 
Holds  ofjf  from  me  ;   she  surely,  if  none  else, 
Would  say  farewell ;  ah,  strange  her  silence  is. 
[Enter  Assistant  with  cup  of  wine,  which 
he  gives  into  the  hands  of  LuiGi. 
Now  for  the  last  time  do  I  taste  of  thee, 
Juice  of  the  grape  ;  I  drink  my  final  cup. 

[He  drinks. 
Ah,  but  the  joy  of  life  from  this  last  draught 
Runs  stronger  through  my  veins,  and  takes  my 
heart, 


PIETRO  OF  SIENA  69 

And  now  than  ever  more  impossible 
It  seems  to  die;   I  cannot,  will  not  cease. 
With  this  red  liquor  dancing  thro'  my  blood. 
If  you  must  kill  me,  it  must  be  by  force, 
'  I'll  not  be  tamely  haled  by  you  along. 
But  ah,  can  you  not  spare  me  a  short  while  ; 
Look,  I  have  money  ;  you,  all  three  of  you, 
Shall  live  at  ease  if  only  I  may  breathe  ; 
Then  hide  me  in  this  dungeon,  and  give  out 
That  I  am  dead,  I  will  reward  you  well. 
You  have  no  grudge  against  me ;   one  of  you 
Hide  me  and  take  the  price  ! 

Tailor.  Seize  him  at  once, 

Bear  him  without,  and  as  the  law  enjoins, 
Do  with  him  :  we  have  heard  enough  of  speech. 
I  will  not  lose  my  office  for  soft  talk. 


70  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Executioner.    Nor  I. 
Assistant.  Nor  I. 

Jailor.  Then  bear  him  quickly  out ! 

[They  advance  on  Luigi   and   seize   him, 
when  there  is  heard  approaching  the  gal- 
loping sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs. 
Luigi.    Listen  !    a  horse's  hoofs,  and  here 
they  stop ! 

[There  is  a  commotion  outside  and  a 
Messenger    rushes    in,     breathless, 
with  a  paper. 
Messenger.     This   from   Pietro   Tornielli, 
straight 
Dispatched. 

Jailor.    [Opening  and  reading.]    Gonzaga,  you 
are  free  forthwith. 


PIETRO  OF   SIESA  71 

LuiGi.  Free,  free  ! 

Jailor.     We  have  no  further  leave  to  keep 
you; 
There  is  the  door  —  and  there  the  world  again. 
LriGi.     But,  but  : 

Jailor.        The  reason  of  this  freedom  find 
Without  these  walls;  we  ha^•e  but  to  obey. 
LuiGi.     And  \-et  I  cannot  — 

[.4  further  noise  unthoid.  then  Pulci  ayid 
Carlo  rush  into  the  prison. 
PuLCi.  Luigi,  you  are  freed. 

So  much  we  heard  and  from  the  horseman 
learned. 

[Exeunt  the  Executioner  a)id  Assist.\nt. 
Jailor.     I  wish  you  well,  sir.     What  I  said 
I  said 


72  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Because  it  is  iiiy  office  —  fare  you  well. 

LuiGi.     But  I  am  lost  in  this  —  farewell, 

good  fellow.  [Exit  Jailor. 

And  you  two  have  no  joy  in  those  your  eyes ; 
We  have  been  friends  —  how  long  ?     Yet  you 

run  hither, 
Bringing  me  life  and  news  of  liberty, 
With  no  wild  word  or  clasp  of  sudden  hand. 
Nor  steady  grip,  nor  look  of  eye  to  eye. 
Well,    I    am    freed  —  ah,    God  !  —  I    should 

rejoice ! 
Thou  soaring  sun,  I  come  to  thee  again 
To  revel  in  thy  splendour  !     I  am  given 
Back  once  again  to  colour  and  the  dew. 
Well,  let  us  quit  this  place ;   come,  come,  my 

friends. 


PIETRO  OF  SI  EX  A  73 

Yet,  yet  —  again  I  say  you  seem  to  grieve 
That  I  am  snatched    thus  from  the  dismal 

grave. 
Is  my  life  hateful  to  you,  thus  restored  ? 
Speak,  men,  speak  !     There  is  some  lurking 

cause 
For  such  a  funeral  greeting  from  the  tomb. 
You,    Carlo,    if    not    Pulci,    speak     straight 

out! 
Carlo.     Luigi,  you  cannot  think  we  are  not 

glad, 
We  two  of  all  Siena,  to  behold  you 
Now  freed,  and  passing  to  the  outer  air. 
Luigi.     Yet    still    I    say    that     something 

lurks  behind. 
And  1  myself  am  not  less  guilty  now 


74  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Than    when    committed  —  what    my    crimes 

were  then 
Are  now  my  crimes  no  less  —  yet  I  am  freed. 

PuLCi.     Luigi,  the  prison  door  is  open  now 
Because  your  sister,  in  the  deep  of  night, 
So  is  it  said,  for  your  sake  yielded  her 
To  Pietro  Tornielli. 

Luigi.  Ah,  my  God  ! 

No,  no,  I'll  not  take  life  upon  these  terms. 
I  am   shaken   through   all   my  being,   I  am 

changed ; 
Where  once  I  cowered,  now  I  cower  no  more. 
She,  she  —  she  knew  I  would  not  have  this 

bargain. 
Now  I  will  put  my  freedom  to  some  use. 
Call  up  our  friends,  however  few  they  be, 


PIETKO  OF  SI  EX  A  75 

And  I  will  storm  the  palace  and  demand 
Aly  death.     I'll  ask  it  as  a  boon,  as  once 
Life  I  demanded.     Ah,  I  loathe  to  breathe, 
And  the  great  sun  is  blackening  in  the  heaven. 
Come' with  me,  come  ! 

PuLCi.  Some  friends  we  have  without 

Already;  more  will  join  us  as  we  go. 

LuiGi.     On  to  the  palace  !    on  !     And  let 
me  die ! 


SCENE  II 

Scene.  —  A  hall  in  the  palace  of  the  Gonzaga. 
There  is  a  sound  of  mutiny  outside,  and  as  the 
curtain  rises  Anselmo  breaks  in  accompanied 
hy  others  of  the  troops,  while  sullen  shouts  are 
heard  from  outside. 

Anselmo.     He  is  not  here;  he  spends  the 

hours  with  her. 

Sirs,  let  us  force  these  doors  and  slay  the  man 

Who  has  betrayed  us  for  a  woman's  eyes. 

My  sword  is  drawn  ! 

Another.  And  mine. 

Another.  We'll  follow  you. 

[Enter  Pietro. 

PiETRO.     Now,  sirs  ! 
76 


PIETRO  OF   SIEXA  77 

Anselmo.  Pietro  Tornielli,  we 

Have  heard  a  rumour  thro'  Siena  flying 
That  not  alone  the  sister's  Ufe  is  spared, 
But  that,  in  hot  desire  for  her,  the  brother 
Too   you   have   spared,  whom   we   all   heard 

condemned 
Out  of  your  own  mouth  !     So,  then,  we  must 

fight, 
And  follow  you   through  peril  and   through 

death, 
Only  at  last  to  be  confronted  thus  ; 
Our    swords    are    nothing    'gainst    a    lady's 

eyes, 
Our  faith  is  nothing  'gainst  our  leader's  lust, 

[An^ry  murmurs. 
Our  services  as  air  against  her  kiss. 


78  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Thus  then  I  speak,  and  speaking  speak  for 

all  — 
Either  we  slay  thee  or  we  leave  thee  here 
To  riot  and  to  passion  and  to  wine. 
But  if  I  cannot  for  old  memory 
Plunge  in  thy  heart  this  sword,  I'll  never  draw 
In  such  a  cause  again.     I'll  not  be  fooled, 

[Angry  shouts. 
To  fight  and  find  all  lost  at  last  for  lust. 
So,  Tornielli,  fare  you  well  for  ever. 

[He  is  about  to  exit  wheti  LuiGi,  after  much 

commotion,  bursts  into  the  hall,  followed 

by  a  retinue  of  followers. 

LuiGi.     Now,  Pietro  Tornielh,  face  to  face 

We  stand.     I  owe  my  freedom  to  your  will ; 

I  am  set  free  —  no  cause  assigned,  but  freed. 


PIETRO  OF  SIEXA  79 

Why  then  ?     My  sister's  honour  I 

[Pointing  to  his  sister. 
And  do  you  think 
That  for  the  madness  of  a  night  with  her 
Whom  I  have  worshipped  Hke  the  blessed  saint, 
Whose  very  tears  were  holy  water,  her  blood 
The  very  wine  we  drink  not  if  we  sin  — 
You  think  I'll  take  my  life  for  such  a  fee? 
Oh,  I  was  craven,  1  den}-  it  not ; 
Here  was  the  chance,  then,  here  the  basest  lure 
Ever  proposed  within  a  woman's  car  — 
She  should  submit  to  you  and  I  go  free  ! 
No,  death  a  thousand  times,  and  death  again  ! 
I'll  not  contaminate  the  air  henceforth, 
And  all  shall  cry  "  See,  Luigi  walks  abroad 
Freed  by  his  sister's  soil !"     If  you  will  light. 


8o  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

Then   let  us  fight   and  without   pause,   and 

now ; 
If  not,  I  give  myself  again  to  death. 

[A  door  is  thrown  open  and  Gemma  comes 
in,  PiETRO  taking  her  hand. 
You,  Gemma,  though  some  may  applaud  this 

act, 
I  loathe  you  for  it  and  for  evermore. 
Ah  !  but  perhaps  it  was  no  martyrdom  ! 
Perhaps  the  sacrifice  came  easily, 
Perhaps  — 

PiETRO.     Enough    is    said.        Now    I   will 

speak. 
Luigi  Gonzaga,  and  Anselmo  there, 
It   is   most   true    that  what  you  here   have 

charged 


riETRO  OF   SIENA  8i 

Against  me  I  did  plan  and  did  intend. 

[Murmurs. 
That  fault  is  in  my  blood.     But  here  I  make 
A  holy  oath,  before  all  saints  in  heaven, 
That  she,  this  lady,  stands  by  me  untouched. 
That  she  is  pure  as  ever  without  spot. 
Rather  would  she  have  killed  me  or  herself 
Than  so  submitted  even  for  such  a  cause  ; 
But  I,  who  have  so  played  the  game  of  love, 
Am  won  to  something  nobler  at  the  last : 
To-day  I  make  this  lady  my  true  wife. 

Gemma.     Luigi,  I  should  have  died  ere  this 
I  did.  [Murmurs  of  astonishment. 

PiETRO.     Her  brother,  who  has  thus  refused 
his  life, 
Knowing  the  truth  will  not  refuse  it  more. 


82  PIETRO  OF  SIENA 

A  golden  morning  on  us  all  descends, 
And  I  foresee  a  golden  morning  wax 
Into  a  deeper  life  between  us  two, 
Bringing  not  bloodshed  nor  old  enmity, 
But  on  our  houses  and  Siena  peace. 

Curtain 


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